BlackBird
by ShamelessLover3
Summary: Shameless Version of A story Written by NotUnsual Ian's parents move during Ian's senior year, forcing him to attend a new school where he doesn't know anyone. It wouldn't be so bad, except he's being targeted by the school bully; Mickey Milkovich. Ian discovers that the best way to combat Kurt is to make friends with him, but can they actually get along?
1. Chapter 1

Ian joins the crowd walking through the front doors of McKinley High School. He steps inside, taking in the fluorescent lights, the linoleum; immediately aware of how very _unlike_ Dalton it is. He doesn't mean to compare, at least not unfairly, but everything is just so jarringly _different_. Nothing about McKinley is handsome or homey. People call out to each other, lockers slam, people run by, and everyone is wearing whatever they like, streaming along in a sea of color. It isn't that Ian has a problem with no dress code, but in a way the uniform had been a comfort. It made him feel safe, like he belonged. Now, in his Lacoste striped shirt, slacks, and Oxfords, he only feels like he sticks out. Ian feels like a fish out a water, a traveler in a foreign land. After three years, Dalton had almost been like a second home.

Ian sucks in a breath, pushes those thoughts away. He mentally chides himself for being melodramatic and crosses the lobby. His first class is supposed to be Calc, but next to 'Calculus with Mr. Thompson' on his schedule is 'N/A'. He glances toward the office, but there is a huge crowd, the line curling outside the doors. Maybe they're all in Mr. Thompson's class, too.

Unsure of what to do, Ian glances around and notices a boy standing next to a small group of people. He has light brown hair and a fair complexion, wearing non-descript clothes that somehow seem ill-fitting. He's staring ahead at nothing, looking like he'd rather be anywhere _but_ this hallway. Ian feels a twinge of commiseration, and without really thinking about it, he changes direction and approaches the boy.

"Excuse me," Ian says, looking up through his lashes, back to his schedule, suddenly shy. "I'm new, and I was wondering if you know where Mr. Thompson's class is? My schedule says-"

"Pro-tip, new kid," the boy says, shifting until he isn't leaning against the wall any longer. His eyes are cool and regard Ian with contempt. Ian hadn't expected such a biting reaction, and he stares at the boy like a deer caught in headlights. The boy has the attention of the others in the group now as well, and they don't exactly look friendly, either. "Next time, ask someone who cares."

Before Ian can even open his mouth to reply, he's hit in the face with a wall of liquid ice. He gasps, shocked by the sudden _cold_.

"Welcome to McKinley!" the boy says, followed by laughter and 'good job, Hummel!' and 'did you see his _face_?' as the group leaves. Not that Ian can see them, whatever he's been splashed with stings his eyes, drips down his neck and into his shirt. He just stands there, stupidly.

"Oh, here- don't open your eyes, it'll only make it worse," comes a female voice, followed by soft fabric swiping gently at each of his clenched eyelids. "Go on, then, it should be safe."

Ian hesitantly opens his eyes, blinking rapidly until he's sure it doesn't hurt. A short brunette stands in front of him, her gaze showing a little worry, but mostly determination. "What just happened?" he asks, licking his lips.

"Mickey Hummel just happened," the girl sighs. A look of disapproval. "You're going to make me late for English." She takes his hand and leads him to the girl's bathroom.

"Um..."

"Oh, no one will care, everyone's on their way to class." She drags a chair over to one of the sinks. "Sit."

Ian sits obediently, and the girl directs him, tilts his head back against the edge of the sink. She wets the towel she must have used to clean his eyes with and begins to gently wipe away the cold syrup- a slushie? Ian shivers.

"You came prepared," he says.

"I also have an extra set of clothes in my locker." She wrings out the towel and wets it again. "Unfortunately for you it includes a skirt. So, what's your name?"

"Ian Gallagher."

"I'm Rachel Berry. _That_ was Mickey Hummel and his gang," she says, somehow making it all sound very dramatic. "Noah Puckerman, or Puck, David Karofsky, Azimio Adams. They're bullies, and it's best to just avoid them. Their favorite pastime is throwing slushies at those of us who fail to be as _popular_ and _nasty_ as they are."

Rachel turns on the faucet and cups her hands, tipping water over his hair. Ian closes his eyes. His hair, so carefully gelled this morning, is going to be a mess.

"I can't believe- _already_. I haven't even been to a _class_ yet," he says. "This is beyond humiliating."

"You still have a chance. Will you be trying out for football?" Rachel asks.

"No..."

"Basketball? Any sport?"

"I'm more interested in choir, or theater."

There's a pause and then Rachel has him by the shoulders. She pulls him up, looking at him with a crazy sort of intensity. "You sing?"

"Um, yeah. I was in my old school's acapella group," he begins to say, blushing.

Rachel squeals. "Ian Gallagher, you are going to join the _coolest_ club in all of McKinley!"

"...What?"

"Glee!"

ooo

Ian misses homeroom entirely and ends up getting to his Calculus class midway through. There's some snickering, most likely due to his damp, purple-stained shirt, but that's the extent of it.

No one says anything as the morning goes by, though he does get some knowing looks. He supposes he doesn't mind, then, flying under the radar. Better to be ignored than outright bullied. Still, it is a dramatic change from Dalton, where he had been well and widely liked. It seems as though the slushie has driven courage and every bit of charisma from him, and instead of trying to make friends, he concentrates on finding his classes and doing his work.

Lunchtime rolls around. Ian dreads the thought of sitting alone, but as soon as he leaves the lunch line Rachel is calling his name and waving enthusiastically. She points to where she's sitting with a group of other kids. He smiles brightly, relieved to know someone, and makes his way across the crowded room.

And trips.

And falls.

His lunch tray skitters on ahead of him. It isn't an accident, someone tripped him, and the sudden burst of laughter that follows confirms it. Ian scowls and pulls himself up, looking into the laughing face of Mickey Hummel.

"What the hell is your _problem_?" Ian asks, knowing his own face is turning red.

"You're just so dorky and small, it's like you're asking for it," Mickey laughs.

Ian stands. "You aren't much bigger."

Mickey's smile evaporates, but before he can reply, the guy in the football jacket next to him leans forward. "I am."

Ian glares at him, eliciting a growl from the jock. The jock starts to get up.

"Move along, homo, if you know what's good for you."

"Karofsky." It's Mickey who interjects. His expression is one of calm fury.

"What?" the jock- Karofsky says, looking at Mickey. He sits back down at least.

"You want to get suspended on your first day?" Mickey is saying as Ian quickly gathers his lunch off the floor. The guy is bigger than him, there is a whole table of them, and Ian doesn't actually want to get his ass kicked.

He walks over to Rachel's table, maintaining some semblance of dignity by not running, heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. He gives the table a tentative look, wondering if they'll even still let him sit by them after that display of awkward. The entire table is staring at him, eyes wide, several mouths parted. but silent.

"You stood up to him," a dark haired girl says, almost in awe.

"Well- I...not really," Ian says, embarrassed.

"You kind of did!" Rachel says.

"That was pretty awesome." There's agreement around the table, and Ian smiles.

"Fellow glee club members-"

"Rachel, this is _not_ a meeting," a different girl in bright clothes interrupts.

Rachel huffs. "Well most of us are here."

The girl rolls her eyes.

" _Any_ way, this is the one I was telling you about. Ian Gallagher, our newest member!" Rachel announces.

There is cheering, actual _cheering_ , and introductions are made.

Ian is good with names, and remembers everyone's as soon as they tell him. Besides, they're all so distinct, there's no way he could forget. At Dalton the boys had blended together. The uniforms, the preppy hair-cuts, all of them clean and smart and well-mannered. Here, Ian can already tell that along with Rachel, Mercedes is just as straight-forward and opinionated. Tina is reserved, but bright and quick to laugh. Quinn, too, is more subdued, sitting close to Finn, who must be her boyfriend from the way she looks at him. Artie is by far the funniest, his and Mike's impressions of a teacher make Ian laugh even if he has no clue who the teacher is.

Ian tries to be charming, and can't help but wonder how they see him.

ooo

The rest of the day goes by alright. As it turns out, Mickey and some of the others from Mickey's group are in a handful of his classes. He makes sure to sit far away from all of them; better to be safe than sorry.

Rachel informs him that glee club meets Tuesdays and Thursdays after school (and sometimes Mondays or Wednesdays when it's getting close to competitions), and that anyone can join (unlike the Warblers!), _but_ , Mr. Schue will probably want to hear him sing, so he should prepare something.

She has a list of suggestions. Like, on hand.

ooo

Ian's excited about his glee club audition. Nervous, but excited. He finds himself humming the song he's chosen under his breath during homeroom the next day. He's ended up in the same homeroom as Rachel, Finn, Artie, Mike and Quinn. Finn and Quinn are talking quietly, heads tipped toward each other, desks pushed close. Rachel is busy watching them with a poorly hidden frown. Mike is napping, Artie is playing his DS, and...

Ian looks up as Mickey walks into the room.

If Mickey notices him, he can't tell. Ian rolls his eyes, putting Mickey out of mind, and goes back to doodling in his notebook, silently mouthing lyrics.

 _Tap, tap, tap._

Ian tries to ignore the foot tapping on the back bar of his desk, a feat that eventually proves impossible. He turns his head to ask the person, politely, to stop.

And locks eyes with Mickey Hummel.

Ian's teeth clench. "Do you _mind_?"

Mickey raises an eyebrow in disdain. "Do you have a death wish?"

Ian doesn't know what's come over him. He is not a confrontational person by any means. There's just something about Mickey Hummel that gets to him. Ian makes a show of looking around the room. "Funny, I don't see any of your two hundred pound friends here to back you up."

"I don't need them," Mickey says, scowling.

"Really? Because I think you do. You look about as tough as a puppy," Ian says with a fake smile.

Mickey stands. He shoves Ian's books off his desk, hovering over him, glaring. "Try me."

"Boys!" Mr. Abela is looking sternly at them from his desk. "Is there a problem?"

"No problem," Ian says, staring at Mickey before turning to pick his books up. Rachel helps, practically beaming at him. Mickey sinks wordlessly back into his seat, puts some earbuds in, and proceeds to ignore him.

Ian can't help but wonder what a jerk like Mickey listens to, because how can assholes appreciate music?

Ian eventually decides it's probably death metal. Or maybe country, because country's the worst. Only when the bell rings, after his mind is made up, does he realize he spent the entirety of homeroom trying to figure out Mickey Hummel's hypothetical playlist.

 _Get a grip_ , Ian tells himself, watching Mickey leave the room.

ooo

Ian stands before the New Directions. Eleven pairs of eyes are on him, one in particular a little unsettling.

("Santana can be overbearing, but she's okay," Rachel had assured him. "Sometimes she hangs around Mickey's gang because she has an on and off again thing with Puck, but there's kind of a truce when she's here.")

"Whenever you're ready, Ian," Mr. Schuester says. "No pressure."

Ian nods and tries to smile. He takes a seat at the piano, cracking his knuckles before lowering his hands to hover above the keys. He takes a deep breath and begins to play.

" _Here we go again, I kinda wanna be more than friends, so take it easy on me_..."

It feels good to sing in front of a group again. In fact, it feels great. If only the New Directions were backing him up, it would be perfect. Not that he expects to be the new soloist, it's just always more fun to sing with people than alone.

Ian finishes, and before he can say a word, Rachel bursts out, "I remember you now!"

"I do, too," says Mercedes.

"The boys in the cute uniforms," comes Brittany's dreamy voice.

"You were the lead for the Dalton Academy Warblers last year," Rachel says, smug.

"You look different in normal clothes."

" _Hotter_ , you mean."

"Shut up, Santana."

"You were tough competition!"

"How come you transferred?"

The whole room is talking, and Ian isn't sure who to reply to first.

"Okay, guys," Mr. Schuester interjects. "Ian, good job. We're lucky to have you."

Mr. Schuester pats him on the back and sends him toward the chairs for their vocal warm-ups. Rachel smiles at him and makes room in the row next to her.

ooo

It doesn't take long for Ian to figure out that New Directions is _not_ the coolest club in school. In fact, they seem to be the most _un_ popular, disliked group in all of McKinley. It's such a stark contrast from the Warblers that Ian that doesn't know what to make of it at first.

He certainly isn't prepared for another slushie to the face, but before the first week is over he gets just that, courtesy of Mickey Hummel. Ian isn't the only one, either. One day during the transition time between third and forth period, he's in the bathroom helping poor Artie clean blue slushie from his glasses, and Artie tells him that's just the way it is for the glee club. Ian protests, telling him what Rachel had said. Artie rolls his eyes. "In her world, maybe."

Mickey in particular seems to go out of his way to try and annoy Ian in every class they share. Childish things, like tapping his foot against Ian's desk, spitballs to the back of his head, taunting him, "accidentally" knocking Ian's books from his desk as he goes by.

On the Friday of Ian's second week, he's just about had enough.

Rachel invited him over to practice, but Ian is in such a foul mood that he finds he can't concentrate.

"Ian. Ian?"

Ian realizes belatedly that Rachel has stopped singing.

"Sorry, Rachel...uh, you sounded great," he says.

Rachel huffs. "I sang the same lyric three times. You didn't even notice! Ian, we'll never be ready for Sectionals if we don't get this right!"

Ian sighs. "I know. I just...had a crappy day. I guess I'm having a hard time shaking it."

Rachel's stern expression melts to sympathy. "What happened?" She smiles, looking hopeful. "You're wearing the same clothes you came to school in, and they're dry. That's a good sign."

"It's just. Mickey. He's such a _jerk_. And he'd be nothing on his own, so it sucks twice as bad because I'm getting picked on by a _lackey_."

Rachel frowns. "I don't know about that. It is a little weird, though. Mickey isn't usually the one who starts things. He sure does seem to like picking on you, though."

"Lucky me."

"You know, he lives down the street from me."

Ian blinks. "Right here?"

"Four houses down."

"That must be awkward," he says.

Rachel shrugs a shoulder. "I used to think it would be a problem. I expected after-school torment, nasty looks if we happened to pass each other. But I hardly ever see him. Not a peep, no trouble at all."

Ian makes a non-committal noise, thinking it over. Mickey probably doesn't want to get in trouble with his parents is all. Bullies are really just cowards themselves, or so he's been told.

"Anyway, enough about _Mickey Hummel_ ," Rachel says. "We need to practice!"

Ian gives Rachel a look of long-suffering, and then cracks a tiny smile. "You're even worse than I am."

"No one has the drive I do," she says in a chipper voice.

"Mm...so, is this song about anyone in particular?" Ian asks, holding up the sheet music. _Adele, Chasing Pavements_. He has his suspicions.

Rachel's expression dims and Ian regrets asking. "Sorry, it's none of my business," he starts to say.

"It's Finn," she murmurs. "I'm sure you've noticed he's dating the most beautiful girl in school-"

Ian feigns surprise. "You two are dating?"

" _Ian_." There is a hint of a smile, though, and Ian feels a little less guilty for bringing the whole thing up.

"You can tell me," he says. "I won't say anything."

"Quinn Fabray, last year's Junior Prom Queen. They're...you know. _That_ couple." She won't meet his eyes, tracing a pattern into her bedspread. "We dated for awhile in the beginning of last year, but...it didn't hold. I just don't compare to her."

"In what way?" he challenges.

"In _all_ ways. Popularity. Looks. Especially looks. Everything except talent." Her chin lifts just so when she says it.

"Rachel." Ian's voice goes soft. "You're beautiful. Finn's an idiot if he let you go."

He's just trying to be a good friend. It's only after the words are out of his mouth and he sees the expression on her face that he realizes how he must sound. He hurries to say something more, not wanting to give the impression that he's hitting on her.

"-I'll take you to Dalton right now. All the guys would fight over you. In fact, if it wasn't such a long distance, there's a guy I know who you'd be perfect for." Of course, all attempts at not being awkward only make things ten times _more_ awkward.

Rachel doesn't seem to notice, and is smiling, cheeks slightly pink. "Ian, are you gay?"

The question takes Ian by surprise, and he gapes a moment. "What? No. I'm not hitting on you, though! I mean. Not that you aren't the sort of girl I'd hit on. Just, we're friends, so I'm not like I'm...trying anything, and. We should practice."

Rachel's head tilts to the side. " _Ian_. Are you sure?"

"That I'm not _gay_? I think I'd know." Does he come off as gay? Is it his shoes? But, in the words of Katy Perry, he kissed a girl and he liked it…once. It didn't repulse him, anyway. He'd know if he was into guys, wouldn't he?

Ian is starting to get a headache.

Rachel just smiles to herself for a long moment. Too long. Ian wonders what she's thinking.

"Okay," Rachel finally says. "Let's practice. And this time, pay attention!"

"Yes ma'am," Ian says, relieved at the subject change.

ooo

The following Monday starts terribly.

Ian has taken too long during gym class (more like too long showering afterwards) and is rushing to his next class, hair dripping, shirt clinging uncomfortably to his body in places where he's still damp. He's so focused on dodging stragglers and hoping he doesn't look like a complete mess, that he takes a corner too fast and barrels right into someone, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

The odds are not in Ian's favor as he finds himself sprawled on top of _Mickey_ of all people. Mickey has cushioned his fall – mostly – his body slim, but soft. Definitely nicer than linoleum, anyway.

Except for the fact that it's _Mickey Hummel_.

Before either of them can say a word, before it really even registers what just happened, there's a burst of laughter around them.

"Looks like you got yourself a boyfriend, Mickey!"

"And he tops!"

Ian looks up in shock that it's Mickey who's receiving the brunt of the jokes, and watches Karofsky and Puck high-fiving each other, laughing. His gaze returns to Mickey, whose face is turning red, the meanest expression Ian has ever seen forming right before his eyes.

"Get off me," Mickey says, so low Ian isn't sure for a second that he's said anything at all.

"I– " Ian scrambles up and Mickey grabs his shirt, shoving him away. Ian stumbles backwards, but thankfully doesn't fall.

"If you insult me like that again, Karofsky," Mickey continues, chin tilted up, an expression of superiority settling in on his face. "I won't take you to prom like you've been asking, and you'll have no use for that floral taffeta dress your mother bought you."

Karofsky colors and Puck cracks up.

"Shut up, _Noah_!" Karofsky snaps, punching Puck in the shoulder.

"Asshole!" Puck hits him back and they begin to scuffle.

Ian sees his opportunity and escapes down the hallway, glancing back to find Mickey watching after him. His heart is pounding, and he covers the place where Mickey grabbed his shirt with his hand. It isn't like he's scared, but his adrenaline has kicked in and he feels...he doesn't know. Strange.


	2. Chapter 2

Stranger still is that after their hallway incident, Mickey leaves Ian more or less alone. He isn't nice, exactly, but he doesn't seem to go out of his way to bother Ian in class. Doesn't look at him, barely even acknowledges his existence.

It's Rachel who gets slushied on Wednesday, and this time Ian helps clean her up in the bathroom.

Things are looking up. Well, for him, at least. For his clothes at the very best.

It's Mrs. McCrea, his fifth period History teacher, who ends his stroke of good luck.

"Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich."

Two names, harmlessly stated side by side.

 _This is not happening_ , Ian thinks.

Mrs. McCrea is pairing them up for a huge assignment, and of all the people in the entire classroom _this_ is who Ian gets partnered with. Ian looks over at Mickey, but Mickey is looking down at his textbook in disinterest.

After Mrs. McCrea is finished reading names, everyone starts getting up to join their partners. Mickey, the jackass, stays put like he isn't even a part of the class. Ian scowls and reluctantly goes over to join him, giving a small wave of goodbye to Mercedes.

Ian sits down next to Mickey, who rolls his eyes and says, "Failure is imminent."

Ian bristles. "You think the failure would be on _my_ part? What do you have, a D average?"

Mickey just snorts and stares straight ahead.

Ian tries to keep his mouth shut, but who the hell does Mickey think he is? "I've gone to private school my entire life. I learned this stuff two years ago," he hisses, "so no, as long as I don't leave the work to you, failure is not _imminent_."

Mickey's hand shoots up. "Mrs. McCrea, Ian won't stop talking and I can't hear your instructions."

Ian blushes, embarrassed.

"Ian, there will be time to discuss your project after I explain it," the teacher says, and resumes her spiel.

Ian sinks lower in his seat. God hates him, that is the only explanation. Or it's bad karma. He's paying for the time he accidentally broke the vase in David's foyer and blamed the dog. Or maybe that one time he cheated at Monopoly, or put saran wrap over Wes's toilet seat...

Ian is thinking so hard about his miserable situation that he nearly misses the entire explanation of the project. Something about Abraham Lincoln and the debate over his views on American Indians.

"So...I guess we can-"

"Quiet," Mickey interjects, still not looking at him. He bends over his paper and begins furiously writing.

O-kay. Ian will just...read the chapter. He opens his book and begins to read, stealing a glance at Mickey every now and then, but Mickey seems intent on ignoring him. Mrs. McCrea walks around the classroom, passing out the outline for their project. Mickey skims it but doesn't say anything.

At the end of class, Mickey slides one of the papers he's been working on over to Ian. "You work on this, and I'll do the other half," he says.

Ian pauses, looking down at the paper Mickey gave him. Mickey has surprisingly nice handwriting, and the work does seem evenly divided.

"I need to maintain a 4.0, or my dad'll kill me," Ian admits, not trusting Mickey to follow through on his end. "I'll do the project, okay? Don't worry about it."

Mickey snaps his book shut, clearly pissed off. "I'm not a _moron_."

"Really? You could have fooled me, considering whose company you keep. They must have the combined IQ of 2. Yesterday in English Azimio asked the teacher what a particle was, and if it was 'one of those things that spins around an atom.'"

"A particle is a function word that doesn't belong to one of the major parts of speech; and nothing spins around an atom," Mickey says, gathering his things and shoving them in his backpack. "And I can handle this project, so if you're done acting like a pretentious jerk-off-"

" _Me_? _I'm_ the jerk-off? That's rich, coming from you," Ian says, feeling a sense of liberation at finally give a little back. "Did you, like...forget who you are? You're the biggest jerk-off in all of McKinley!"

At this, a few of the other students look over.

Mickey shoves Ian's things off the table, sending books, pens, and papers flying. "You're damn right I am," he says, and stalks out of the classroom.

"Mickey Milkovich!" Mrs. McCrea calls after him. But he is already gone.

ooo

The tension between Ian and Mickey during History is palpable.

They speak to each other as little as possible. Anything out of Mickey's mouth is a jibe, prompting Ian to get his own digs in. The work is difficult to divide up at times, too many questions rely on previous answers, and communication between both boys can't be avoided.

During their group work time on Friday, Ian turns to ask Mickey something, only to find him sound asleep, cheek propped on the crook of his elbow. Ian's first thought is: what can I do to get him back? Put something in his hair? Draw on his face? Hide his textbooks?

Guilt cuts Ian's thoughts short. He isn't this person. All the animosity between them is turning him into someone he doesn't want to be. Sure, good-natured pranks between friends is fun - he's pulled many at Dalton and has been the recipient of even more. But he and Mickey aren't friends and his intentions are not in good spirits. He doesn't like Mickey, and he doesn't deserve all the crap Mickey pulls, but he doesn't have to resort to it in turn. He is better than that.

After a long moment of indecision, Ian touches his fingers to Mickey's arm. "Mickey," he whispers. "Wake up. You'll get in trouble."

Mickey's eyes blink open. A look of confusion, then alarm. "Oh, thanks," he says, sounding groggy. He raises his head and looks at Ian like he doesn't know who he is. Ian sees the moment Mickey realizes what's happening, and turns away.

"No problem," Ian says, pretending to get back to work.

Mickey probably regrets that thank you. He doesn't say anything at all.

ooo

As it turns out, the way Mickey has divided their work _is_ problematic. Ian needs to write a short essay about Lincoln's political reasons for abolishing slavery, but Mickey has taken that section of notes. Ian supposes he can just look up the information himself, but he wants their work to be cohesive.

The essay is due Monday, and Ian doesn't have Mickey's number. He can't fail this assignment and isn't about to take the chance that Mrs. McCrea would give him an extension, not on such short notice. He contemplates finding Mickey on Monday morning and getting the notes from him then, but he can't guarantee having time in his classes to write the paper.

This leaves one option; he'll have to go to Mickey's house. Rachel mentioned it's on her block, and with a quick phone call he has the address.

Mickey's house looks nice from the outside. Brick, two level ranch, nice yard with a truck in the driveway. Ian parks behind the truck, stomach turning from sudden nerves. He slowly makes his way up the walk. Maybe he should have parked at Rachel's house and walked over...

"Can I help you?" says a voice to his right.

Ian nearly jumps in surprise - why is he so nervous? - and plasters a smile across his face. "Hi, I'm looking for, uh, Mickey Milkovich? Does he live here?"

The man has come from the backyard in a pair of dirty coveralls, flannel shirt, jeans, boots, worn baseball cap. He looks Ian up and down in assessment. "Yeah. You a friend of his?"

Ian isn't sure how to answer that at first. No is on the tip of his tongue, but that would be awkward considering this is probably Mickey's dad.

"Yeah. We're partners for a History project. I just need to get some notes from him. I'm Ian. Gallagher," he adds, and holds out his hand. He usually has better manners than this.

The man doesn't reply with anything right away. "Better not shake, I just got back from work," he says, holding up two very dirty looking hands. "Nice to meet you, Ian. I'm Burt, Mickey's father. He's upstairs if you wanna go up."

Ian lowers his hand. "Oh, thanks." He stands there, waiting for Burt to let him in.

Burt cracks a small smile. "Go ahead, it's unlocked. I got a piece'a shit lawnmower I gotta try and fix before I go in. Mickey's probably upstairs in his room, just call out."

"Okay, Mr. Milkovich," Ian says, returning the smile. "It was nice to meet you."

"Sure. See ya, kid."

Feeling suitably intimidated, as though Burt knows everything about him just from looking, Ian quickly makes his way inside.

He steps into the living room and looks around. It's nice. Well kept, fairly large. Ian doesn't know what he expected, really. There's no sign of Mickey. Ian peeks in the kitchen, calls Mickey's name to make sure he isn't on the lower level. No reply. Ian feels like he's trespassing as he makes his way upstairs, taking each stair carefully as though they might break below him. Stupid thought, and he's nervous again.

"Mickey?"

There's still no reply, but Ian can hear something. It sounds like...singing?

Ian follows the sound and creeps over to the door it's coming from. He listens with his ear close, almost touching.

"... _Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly_..."

Someone is singing, and it definitely isn't Paul McCartney. It's too soft and fragile. It's beautiful.

The voice is familiar, but there is no way. No way. It has to be...does Mickey have a sister? Maybe a cousin. Ian doesn't know, but whoever it is, he can't help but be a little entranced. Ian stays nearly pressed to the door, listening to the song until it is over. There isn't a sound afterward beyond muted footsteps, and before Ian can even think about what he's doing, his knuckles find the door and knock.

"Yeah?" The door swings open suddenly, and Ian's forgotten he's standing so close. He's practically nose to nose with Mickey Milkovich. Not his sister. Of course it wasn't a sister, and Mickey is clearly expecting the person beyond the door to be his father. There's a distinct look of shock on Mickey's face, and just as fast as Mickey opened the door, he slams it shut.

Ian stands stock still for a moment.

"Mickey?"

The door opens slowly this time and Mickey slips out, closing it quietly behind him. Ian can't tell if Mickey is embarrassed, angry, or both; his expression is cold and unreadable.

"What are you doing at my house?"

Ian clears his throat. "I need your History notes. For the essay. Your dad let me in," he adds.

Mickey glares at him, as if trying to decide if Ian is being honest. "Fine. Wait right here. Do _not_ move." With that, Mickey slips back into his room. In a glance Ian sees a neatly made bed with a rich, red comforter and matching pillows, and that's it.

Mickey returns a moment later and shoves the papers at Ian. "Anything else?"

There is something else. Not only does Mickey have a great voice, but he is the _last_ person Ian would imagine sitting around in his room singing a Beatles song. Mickey doesn't seem to enjoy anything. He's surly and mean and he's...a _bully_.

Ian can't help himself, the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "No, but- Mickey, was that you singing? You're _really_ good."

The sudden pink of Mickey's cheeks is unmistakable. He shifts, clearly uncomfortable. "That was a CD, moron. They play music?"

"Mickey..."

" _Ian_. It's a CD."

Ian's teeth scrape along his lower lip, eyes on the other boy. "That was not McCartney. I'm not an idiot, I have that album. You don't have to be embarrassed, I think it's _awesome_."

Maybe Mickey is an asshole, and maybe Ian kind of hates him, but he has a hard time being dishonest.

Mickey's eyes dart beyond Ian, his hand gripped tight to his bedroom doorknob. "Listen, it wasn't me, and you need to leave. I didn't ask you to come over, and I don't want you here," he says harshly, opening his bedroom door.

"Mickey, I'm-"

" _Goodbye_." The door slams shut behind him once more, and Ian winces.

Ian says nothing, but waits a minute longer. Silence. Before Mickey has him forcibly removed from the house by his father, Ian descends the stairs. If he takes his time, well, no one needs to know.

Back home, Ian reads over Mickey's work. It's perfect. Ian has been under the impression that Mickey doesn't like school, doesn't try at school. He hadn't thought there was one refined or intellectual thing about Mickey Milkovich. Today he's been proven wrong twice over, even if by accident.

So, what else is Mickey hiding?


	3. Chapter 3

Their project gets an A.

Ian half expects Mickey to rub it in his face, but after the incident at Mickey's house, Mickey has barely said two words to him. The 'I told you so' never comes. He bets Mickey is thinking it, though.

The A and the silent treatment only fuel the fire of Ian's new-found and unwelcome obsession with Mickey Milkovich. Not that he would _ever_ admit it, but he does find himself watching Mickey. Like, all the time. It doesn't help that they have three classes, homeroom, and the same lunch period. Ian makes an effort not to look at Mickey, not to think about Mickey, but it's in vain. He watches for some chink in Mickey's armor, wondering what the other boy is thinking.

It's pathetic, stupid.

Still, he can't help himself. Ian used to try to sit at the opposite side of the room as Mickey, he now makes it a point to sit behind or next to him.

There are a few things Ian starts to notice. One is the way Mickey carries himself, always with this demeanor of _do not mess with me or I will cut you_. This is maybe not so terribly surprising, except that it isn't projected with angry scowls or glares, but with his nose upturned and an expression of constant aloofness. Mickey has an air of superiority and judgment nearly every time he looks at someone. None of the others in Mickey's group look at people this way. Mostly, they coast through their day with perpetual expressions of boredom and irritation. Mickey, though, looks like _everyone_ is below him.

Another thing that Ian notices about Mickey is that along with carrying himself like the King of McKinley castle, he also always looks, well, kind of miserable. He _never_ smiles. The closest he gets is a smirk, but in general his mouth is in a somber line, eyes cool and disregarding. Sometimes at lunch his friends will say something that makes him smile or laugh, but it doesn't appear to be especially genuine to Ian.

Ian has always heard that bullies _bully_ to feel better about themselves. Maybe they aren't educated, they may not have a good home life, they feel inferior, not as smart or good looking or well off as their peers. That's what adults always say. But Ian is almost positive Mickey does not feel inferior to one single person in all of McKinley, maybe even in all of Ohio.

ooo

It's nearly the end of the day, AP French class. Ian does well in French, though of all his classes it's probably the one he struggles in the most. If he had his way he wouldn't take it at all, but his mother insists that he know at least one other language because it will look good for college.

But _this_. This is exactly what is so bizarre about Mickey Milkovich. He takes _French_. And not just French, but _advanced placement_ French.

Granted, several weeks at McKinley have shown Ian that even though a student is in an advanced class does not in fact mean they are advanced. He doesn't think it's like that for Mickey, but he has no idea how some of the other students got into this class in the first place. Ian isn't even sure some of them know how to spell their own names. Hell, _Azimio_ is in this class. (Sitting next to Mickey, of course.)

"Why is Mathilde unhappy with her life at the opening of the story?" asks Mrs. Zaranski.

Mrs. Zaranski starts to discuss their reading assignment, a short story by Maupassant, and Ian finds his concentration slipping away. He chews idly at his pen cap, unconsciously watching Mickey's back, the lines of his profile when he turns his head. Mickey's expression reflects boredom and he seems to be pretending to doodle on his paper, but Ian knows better. He is totally taking notes.

God, why bother? Why play dumb when you aren't? Ian glances at Azimio. Maybe Mickey wants to look as stupid and disenchanted as his friends so they won't tease him, like that incident in the hallway. But then, why hang out with them at all? Maybe they all grew up together, so Mickey feels obligated and they're just a terrible influence. Maybe they're blackmailing him and he does all their homework for them. Yeah, Ian bets that's it. They have serious dirt on the guy, something that would shock everyone and get him expelled-

Ian mentally shakes his head, because here he is, thinking about _Mickey_ again.

"Now, if you'll turn to page twenty of your text books, I'd like for you to work on some language comprehension questions," Mrs. Zaranski is saying. "Pair up with the person next to you and take turns asking and answering the questions. En français, s'il vous plaît."

Ian sits up a little and can't decide if it's relief or disappointment he feels at not being partnered with Mickey.

The guy next to him looks vaguely stoned, and Ian sighs. "Want to go first?"

"Uh, sure," the boy says. ...Todd? Tom? No, Ian is fairly certain his name is Ted. Right.

"Excuse me," Ian says, reading from the book, "where can I find the nearest café?" He wonders if he's supposed to be reading the questions in French, but at Ted's blank stare he thinks maybe not.

While Ted is struggling to figure out how to answer, Ian overhears, "Tu es le plus grand abruti que j'ai rencontré."

It's Mickey.

' _You are the biggest moron I have ever seen_.'

At first Ian thinks the comment is directed at him, his brain having latched onto 'abruti.' Maybe Mickey noticed him sitting so closely? But no, Mickey is looking at Azimio, chin held primly in his palm, a bored expression on his face. Ian's jaw drops, but Azimio looks just as clueless as his own partner and doesn't seem to understand what Mickey said to him at all.

"Uh, right. 'What food can I get at the café?,'" Azimio reads slowly.

"Rien n'est assez dégoûtant pour satisfaire ton appétit," Mickey says in the same bored tone. "Je ne pense pas que les cafés de Paris servent des Big Macs ou même des tacos. C'est même assez drôle de t'imaginer à Paris."

Ian tries to follow what he's saying, all the while ignoring his partner as he fumbles through his own answer. He is fairly certain Mickey just told Azimio, _'Nothing disgusting enough to suit your appetite. Somehow I don't think Paris cafes serve Big Macs and tacos. It's laughable to even think of you in Paris at all_.'

Azimio stares blankly at Mickey and Ian can't help it, he laughs out loud.

Mickey turns in his seat, eyebrow raised in question, and Ian quickly covers his mouth with his hands. He can't take back the laugh, though, and Mickey's expression says it all. He didn't think anyone would have been able to understand what he said, or at least that anyone else was listening.

"C'est drôle, parce que c'est vérité," Ian says with a smile. ' _It's funny because it's true_.'

Ian swears Mickey starts to smile, but whatever it starts as ends in a smirk. "I think you meant 'vrai.'"

Ian snorts. "Same thing."

"Not if you're in _France_ ," Mickey says, and starts to turn back around. "Mêlez-vous de vos affaires, Gallagher."

 _'Mind your own business_ ,' said without a drop of venom. Ted is looking at him in confusion, and Ian clears his throat.

"...What can I take to get to the Louvre?"

ooo

Mickey stops picking on Ian, but all attempts to say anything to the other boy are met with short answers and snark. However...

In Biology, Mickey helps Ian with his finicky Bunsen burner without being asked. Two days later, in gym class during a soccer game, he actually passes Ian the ball. And in History he lends Ian a pencil when he can't find one for the scantron pop quiz.

"...I just think there's something going on," Ian says, seated in the choir room with Rachel, Tina, Mike, and Mercedes around him.

"Like what?" asks Tina.

Ian sighs. "I don't know. I just don't think he's as bad as he acts. And his _voice_ -"

Mercedes looks doubtful. They all do.

"Ian, honey, just 'cause the boy can sing don't mean a damn thing. I don't think there is one person in this room who hasn't been at the other end of Mickey's harassment. Except Santana, maybe," Mercedes adds, motioning to Santana with an eye roll. Santana is sitting on the opposite side of the room, braiding Brittany's hair, Quinn with them.

"I can't _count_ the number of times I've been slushied by him over the past three years," Rachel says with a frown.

Mike adds, "Or been made fun of."

"Spitballs," says Tina.

"That one time he 'accidentally' dumped his plate of spaghetti on me in the lunch line," Mercedes says. "Ian, life's not like the movies. People aren't more than what they are. A jerk is just a jerk, and your life'll be a lot easier if you just leave him be."

Ian nods, but he still can't shake the feeling that there is more to Mickey Milkovich than the school bully. Worse, he still can't get Mickey singing Blackbird out of his head.

ooo

Weeks pass uneventfully.

New Directions is preparing for Sectionals, and Wes is more than happy to tease Ian over Skype about how Sectionals don't matter because the Warblers will crush New Directions at Regionals. Ian reminds Wes that they might not even end up competing, but if they do, _bring it_.

He misses Dalton. He misses Wes and David and The Warblers. He could have stayed at Dalton, boys from farther away than he lives do. That's the whole point of a boarding school. But his mother insisted it would be too far to drive in case something happened, and honestly Ian is surprised she'd care enough to think of that. Lord knows his father doesn't. But that's his mom, controlling and callous.

"Ian!"

Speaking of his mother.

Ian's mother hates to drive, it gives her anxiety or the vapors or something, Ian doesn't really know. But because of this he is often wrangled into driving her all over the place, and often wishes he had waited until he was eighteen to get a license. At eighteen he'll be off at college, hopefully as far away from his parents and the state of Ohio as possible.

For now he is following his mom around Meijer, pushing the cart as she complains about the price of meat - as if dad doesn't make a ridiculous amount of money - the state of the organic kale, the way their cart wheel squeaks on occasion, and how Ian is useless at all things various and sundry. He's doing his best to drown her out by going over song lyrics in his head for glee. His imaginary iPod is on repeat and turned up at full volume.

Ian is leaning against the cart rail, thinking ' _what I've got's full of stock, of thoughts and dreams that scatter, and you pull them all together, and how I can't explain'_ when a familiar voice catches his attention.

"...that isn't healthy. Do you see how much Sodium, dad?"

Ian looks over and seems to notice Mickey the exact moment Mickey notices him. They both just stand there, staring at each other in mute surprise for one long, frozen moment. Ian is unsure if he should say hi or simply pretend he hasn't seen Mickey at all.

Only, Burt sees him, too.

"Hey. Ian, right?" Burt says, waving the box of crackers he's holding.

Ian stops slouching. "Yes, sir. I mean, hi." He smiles, but glances to his mother, hoping the cuts of meat will keep her at bay for now.

"Mickey, aren'tcha gonna say hi?"

Mickey's eyebrows are high, mouth in a tight line, nose upturned, and Ian watches as he tries to relax. His smile looks pained. "Hello, Ian," he says, voice soft.

"Hi, Mickey. Are you...are you ready for the test on Monday? In French," he says, the words stumbling from his mouth in an awkward jumble. Burt thinks they are friends, he has to say _something_.

"Please. I run circles around all of you," says Mickey, looking smug.

"My son, ever humble," Burt says, giving Mickey a playful smack on the head with the box of crackers.

"Dad, my _hair_."

"Touchy, touchy."

Ian smiles. They probably would have left it at that and gone their separate ways, but just as he is about to say _'Well, see you in school, have a good weekend,'_ his mother returns.

"This place is disgusting. Ian, did you not hear me when I told you to bring the cart over?"

To say he is embarrassed is an understatement. Burt and Mickey are both looking at him, so what choice does he have but to introduce them? He would rather introduce the pair to a fire breathing dragon than subject them to his mother, but, manners.

"Uh, mom. This is Burt Milkovich, and Mickey, a friend from school."

"Nice to meet you," Burt says, extending his free hand.

Ian's mother eyes Burt's hand suspiciously, and holds it as briefly as she can. "Pleasure," she says in such a way that it clearly is not.

Burt doesn't reply at first, and Ian wants to die.

"Mechanic's hands, y'know. They're clean, they just don't always look it," Burt says.

His mother looks Burt up and down, then Mickey, her gaze finally going to Ian as if to ask, _these_ are the people you associate with? "Mm. Well, I can only hope McKinley offers a better education than _that_ ," she adds, looking to Ian, "if you're to make anything of yourself."

Ian is mortified. He can't bring himself to look at anyone. He is just about to slink off with the cart, politeness be damned, when Mickey speaks up.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but did you come here in a _car_?"

Ian's mother huffs. "Well, of course-"

"And do you expect that car has always and _will_ always run perfectly? Even if you spend a million dollars on it, all cars have parts, and those parts will, eventually, start breaking down and stop working. And then where will you take your car, ma'am?" But Mickey doesn't wait for an answer, even when Burt tries to interject. "To a mechanic, right? More specifically, to _us_. Because my father is the best mechanic in all of Lima, four years running. Look us up, Milkovich Tires and Lube. And this, that I'm wearing?" Mickey motions to his shirt. "Is Burberry. Surely you've heard of the brand? We are not below you. So maybe you should think twice, or at _all_ , before judging someone and spewing your rude and unfair opinions."

Ian can't believe what just happened, and if their faces are anything to go by, either can his mother or Burt. Ian slowly lowers himself, holding onto the cart handle and peeking out from behind it, trying to hide his grin behind the bar. No one has _ever_ spoken to his mother like that.

"Mickey, that was uncalled for," Burt says, looking cross, but maybe a little proud, too.

"I have never been so insulted," his mother starts, clearly flustered. She looks to him, suddenly, and Ian's eyes widen in alarm. " _This_ is who you make friends with? This horrid little boy, Ian? I knew we should have kept you at Dalton-"

"Yes, ma'am, we're best friends," Mickey pipes up. "I showed Ian how to smoke behind the bleachers without getting caught, and who the best people to cheat off are, and-"

Ian's mother sputters indignantly.

"Mickey! That's enough, let's go," Burt says, grabbing Mickey by the back of his shirt collar like a mama cat with her baby, pushing Mickey and the cart away.

" _Dad_ , did you miss the part where I said this is _Burberry_ -"

"-I don't know what a Burberry is-"

"- _God_..."

Ian looks away from the Milkovichs when he realized his mom is going off on him. "- _smoking_? We raised you better than that, Ian! When we get home-"

Yeah, no. He looks back over, despondent, at the same moment Mickey looks back at him. Mickey gives him a look of sympathy, glancing at his mother, and Ian smiles a little like a shrug. And then something even more unexpected happens; Mickey smiles. At him. A friendly, gentle smile that Ian has never seen on Mickey's face before.

Ian looks away with a start when his mother grabs the cart away from him, stalking down the aisle. Ian instinctively hurries to catch up amidst, "-when we get home we're going to have a long talk with your father-" He glances over his shoulder one more time, but Mickey isn't looking at him anymore.

"Dad won't even be home for two days," Ian mutters, following her.

ooo

Ian spends the rest of the day convincing his mother that he doesn't smoke or cheat or do any of the other things Mickey said. He does suggest, though, that maybe Dalton _is_ the best place for him, feeling a small sense of hope bubbling up in his chest. She did mention they should have kept him there, he points out more than once. The academics at McKinley aren't as advanced, he doesn't mind boarding, and he'll always be just a phone call away. But it is the same as it was before they'd moved: "As much as I'd love to send you off, if something happens it's too far and too much of a hassle and you know how busy your father is..."

It stings a little, the way she says she'd love to send him off, because he knows it's true. He often feels like nothing more than a burden to his parents, the son they had because that's what married people _do_. A little Them to model in their image.

Unfortunately, there aren't many people he'd rather be _less_ like than his mother and father.

He knows exactly what they don't care for, and it's singing and acting. Anything involving the arts. Sure, his mother had enrolled him in piano and violin lessons as a child, but it was just The Thing To Do. Upstanding children always know how to play the piano, or something. In reality she could care less about music, or Ian's love of music, and she would have been horrified to find out that it's kind of what Ian wants to _do_. As in a career, as in the rest of his life.

Ian is grateful for the New Directions, to have friends who love music just as much as he does...but somehow he is still just so _lonely_.

He feels it in that moment like a lump in his throat. He appreciates Rachel and glee club, he does, but he misses Dalton and all his friends there. He misses his best friend, Wes. He misses his old life. He misses things he's never had.

Ian closes his eyes. Just eight more months. Eight months and he graduates high school, he'll go to college somewhere out of state and he'll be gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Ian's problem is that when he isn't thinking about how much he can't stand his parents, he's thinking about _Mickey_. He's starting to seriously creep himself out, because what guy thinks about another guy so much? He's pretty sure the only way to stop will be if he can just figure out what's up with Mickey. Once he solves the mystery of Mickey Milkovich, things will go back to normal.

Plan A. He goes over to Mickey's house again, unannounced.

Burt answers the door and his eyebrows raise in surprise.

Ian blushes, oh god, what had he been thinking? They probably both hate him now after the incident with his mom. "Hi- I. I just wanted to apologize for the other day. At the grocery store," he says, already stepping back onto a lower step of the porch. He should leave.

Burt's expression relaxes into understanding. "Hey, that's okay. You don't gotta apologize."

Ian is a little taken aback. "...Are you sure? Because-"

"Look, kid, it isn't you, y'know? If your mom's got a problem?" He shrugs. "That's her deal."

Ian nods, but admits, "I feel bad. I don't share her opinion."

"I figured." Burt smiles, and Ian feels relieved. "You lookin for Mickey?"

Another nod, a little less timid.

"He's not due home for about another half hour or so. You wanna come in and wait?"

"Uh." Ian smiles tentatively. "Sure."

Burt nods toward the inside of the house and holds the door open for him. He steps inside, smile growing.

"You can watch TV if you want, game's on. Or you can help me make dinner," Burt says with a small laugh, like he knows what Ian's choice will be.

"I'd love to help," Ian says, and that seems to catch Burt's attention.

"Yeah? Ever make quinoa tacos?"

"No, I've...never even heard of that. But I'm a fast learner." Ian follows Burt into the kitchen where dinner is already started.

"Had some heart trouble last year. Kid's got me on a healthy diet, so we use a special recipe book. No salt on anything," Burt sighs.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you okay now?" Ian asks.

"Yeah, thanks to Mickey. He's a sweet boy, couldn't ask for better son." Burt talks as he gathers ingredients, pride evident in his voice and on his face. "Gets it from his mother, of course."

"Is she at work?" And damn Ian's penchant for speaking before thinking, leading him to say awkward, stupid things. He regrets it as soon as he sees the look in Burt's eyes.

Burt goes still, staring at the cook book. "She passed away eleven years ago. Mickey was six."

"I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't know." _Of course you didn't know, idiot_. "I'm- That must be hard."

"We get by," Burt says, finally turning to look at him with a smile. "Now, you think you can handle cutting up some cauliflower?"

ooo

"Dad! I'm home!"

Mickey comes running into the dining room, slightly breathless and excited about something. It lasts about two seconds. He stops short, confusion and surprise evident on his face. Ian is sure Mickey probably didn't expect to come home and find him setting the table.

"Hi."

"Did I walk into the wrong house, or..."

Burt pokes his head out of the kitchen. "Hey, you're home. Just in time, dinner's about done."

Mickey looks between Burt and Ian, and slowly backs out of the room. Ian listens to his footsteps ascend the stairs.

Well, that wasn't awkward or anything.

Ian finishes setting the table and Mickey returns, nose in the air, composed. He comes up to Ian, standing close by his side, and whispers near his ear, "Why are you in my house?"

Ian turns his face a little, unnerved. "You said we're friends. Best friends."

Mickey stares. "...You did not think I was being serious."

Ian just smiles.

"You did _not_."

Of course he hadn't, but it's not like he's going to say, _nah I was just curious about how you seem to be two different people, so I decided to come over and get to know you._

"Boys?" Burt carries the taco platter out and sets it on the table. "Care to bring out a dish?"

"Of course," Ian says dutifully, and slips past Mickey and into the kitchen to get the sautéed cauliflower. Mickey follows, bringing out pineapple slices. Ian can feel Mickey's eyes on him, but ignores him and sits down at the table.

"Thanks again for inviting me to dinner, Mr. Milkovich," Ian says after they start eating.

"Burt. And of course. It goes a lot faster having help."

Mickey looks mildly horrified. "You helped make dinner?"

"Yes," Ian says. "How else was I going to get the chance to poison your dinner?"

Mickey opens his mouth, a half-eaten piece of cauliflower falling out. Ian nearly doubles over in laughter.

"That isn't _funny_ ," Mickey grinds out, daintily picking up the piece of cauliflower with his napkin and setting it aside.

"It's pretty funny," Ian says, wiping at the corner of his eye.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is _not_."

"Boy, Mickey, what got up your butt?" Burt asks, snorting around a bite of food.

Mickey colors and looks down at his plate. He picks up his fork, seeming to come to a decision, and smiles. "Nothing, dad. I'm just sorry I wasn't able to help make dinner, too."

"Gotta get home earlier than six thirty, son," Burt says.

"I was at the library."

They continue to eat, Mickey and his dad talking about the script Mickey's working on for Creative Writing. It's a Western and he has to do research because he doesn't know anything legitimate about horses or surviving in desert climates. Ian listens quietly, mostly watching Mickey. Mickey sounds excited about the story, and even more excited when he brings up that he saw the For Sale sign in the window of a car he wants has been reduced in price by a thousand dollars.

"What kind of car is it?" Ian asks.

Mickey looks over at him. "A 1965 Buick Riviera." His attention returns to his father. "I just think it'd be fun to rebuild before I go to college."

"Except you're forgetting how you should be saving money for college, not some old car," Burt says.

"Yeah, yeah, dad. It's just a nice car. Plus, it'd be nice not having to share your truck."

"We'll see."

Mickey smiles and takes a bite of his taco.

"I have a car," Ian pipes up, "if you ever need a ride somewhere."

Mickey almost chokes, and takes a long drink of milk, staring at Ian over his glass as though trying to gauge if he's messing with him or not.

"You only live maybe five minutes away," Ian adds.

"Sure," Mickey says, catching his breath. "Thanks, Ian."

Ian thinks this is kind of fun, how Mickey has to act nice to him because his dad is around. "No problem. Maybe we can go bowling or something. Or to Cedar Point."

"You are not getting me on a roller coaster," Mickey says immediately.

Burt chuckles. "It's true. Took him on the log ride when he was seven and it just about traumatized him."

"I was soaking wet! Not to mention what they do to your hair, _and_ your stomach." He stabs a pineapple slice, looking prissy. "Never again."

Ian smiles down at his plate. "That's the whole point."

Mickey points the pineapple slice at him. "Never. Again."

Ian put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, no Cedar Point."

"Besides," Mickey says, sucking the juice off the piece of fruit, "are you sure your mother would let you? She seems a bit..." He meets Ian's gaze, challenging. "Uptight."

"Mickey," Burt starts to say.

"No, it's fine. No one is more aware of my mother's behavior than I am," Ian says, looking Mickey right in the eye. "And to answer your question, Mickey, I doubt she would care. Beyond that, I'm sorry about what she said yesterday."

Mickey licks his lip. A long moment passes. He must be unable to come up with a jab to return with. "It's fine. I hope I wasn't too out of line."

"A bit," Burt says.

What his mother did was humiliating, but it was far from the first time. Ian swallows his shame, there is nothing else he can do. "Well, it is the truth."

The conversation relaxes again after that, segueing into a discussion about movies coming out soon. At the end of the meal Burt starts to gather the dishes and Mickey stretches.

"Well, it was nice of you to come over, Ian..."

Ian just smiles.

"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow at school?" Mickey concludes.

"Oh. I don't have to go home yet," Ian says, sounding overly happy. "Can I see your room? Do you have an X-Box?"

Mickey freezes.

"Go ahead, boys, I'll take care of clean up this time," Burt says, looking pleased.

Mickey is glaring daggers at him, but stands up. "Sure, let's go." His smile is strained.

"Awesome!" Ian says, and follows Mickey up the stairs.

As soon as they're in Mickey's bedroom, Mickey closes the door and backs Ian up to it. "I could kill you for this," he hisses.

Ian just smiles; he was expecting this sort of reaction. "I'm not scared of you. You said we were friends."

"I said that to piss off your mom," Mickey all but screeches, throwing his hands up. "God, and to think, I actually kind of felt _bad_ for you."

Ian is a little touched by that, honestly. "For me?" Still, he came for a reason. "That's weird, because I feel sorry for you."

Mickey frowns, mouth tight. "What for?"

"Because clearly you're trying very hard to be a good boy for dad. Or maybe you're trying to be a jerk at school. I can't tell."

Mickey looks like he's trying not to blow a gasket.

"I don't get you," Ian says, earnestly. "It's like you're two different people. Which one is the real you?"

"Nothing that I do is any of your business," Mickey snaps.

Ian steps forward, forcing Mickey a step back. "You made it my business when you slushied me on my first day of school."

"That was to warn you to _back off_ —"

"Well it didn't work!"

"What do I have to do to get you to leave me _alone_? Do I have to sic Karofsky on you? Is that what it'll take—"

Ian inwardly balks at the thought, but crosses his arms and fixes Mickey with a look of defiance. "I'm not afraid of you. I know you're hiding something, I know you're faking _something_ -"

"Really, Ian? Since you're so fucking observant, haven't you _noticed_?" Mickey flattens a palm against the door next to Ian's head, staring him down. "I'm different, and people who are different, people who stick out at this school? Are _tormented_."

"By you."

Mickey's hand curls into a fist and bangs into the door. Ian winces, but doesn't move. "You think I started this? I do what I have to do."

"But why are you different?" Ian asks, frowning. "Because you have a high voice?"

Mickey's jaw drops in disbelief and anger. It takes a moment for him to reply. "And I'm skinny, unathletic, and I'm - I used to be short. I used to look very young for my age."

Ian studies Mickey's face. No, there's something else. Mickey seems worried, there is still this look of panic underneath his anger, like a wounded animal, and Ian, the fox. Ian doesn't mean to be, but he shakes his head. Mickey is holding back and he needs to _know_. "I don't buy it," he says. "That can't be it-"

"Do you need me to spell it out for you, Ian? I'm _gay_." Mickey says it in a breath, barely pausing to take another. "And I don't want anyone to know."

Ian feels his face heat up without knowing why. He wonders if it shows, if Mickey can tell.

"I- oh."

Mickey can't have noticed, though, because he is slowly backing away. He's even paler than normal and looks like he's about puke. " _Oh god_ ," he says, walking backwards until his shoulder hits the wall. He slides down, crouching on the floor. "Why did I just say that..."

The news isn't as shocking for Ian as it apparently is for Mickey. Not that Ian suspected, but it's just not a big deal. He's known a few gay guys at Dalton. Rachel's dads are gay. It's not like he's never met somebody like that before. Still, Ian doesn't know how to respond. Mickey isn't a friend, but he isn't...well, Ian doesn't know _what_ he is.

Ian decides that even if they aren't friends, Mickey looks like he could use one right now, so he edges closer and hesitantly sits down next to him. "I won't tell," he says in a quiet voice. He may not like Mickey, he may have even wanted to give him some crap for the things he's done, but he would never, ever use this against him.

Mickey doesn't say anything, just covers his face with his hands, fingers tangling in his hair.

"I promise, Mickey," Ian says, reaching out to touch Mickey's arm.

Mickey pushes his hand away and looks at him, gaze hard but eyes unmistakably watery. "Stop it, Ian. You don't even _like_ me."

"So?" Ian snaps, clasping his own fingers like Mickey's touch hurt them. "That doesn't mean I'm going to _out_ you."

"Shh! _Fuck_."

Ian blushes, but lowers his voice. "I'm _not_ that kind of person."

Mickey rubs his hand over his forehead, his eyes, trying to collect himself. He doesn't look at Ian when he speaks up. "No one else knows. Not even my dad."

Only then is Ian hit with the enormity of the situation. He wants to ask, _why me_? But suspects Mickey won't be able to come up with an answer anyway. It was a mistake, something that has probably been building up and accidentally spilled out. No one has ever shared a secret like this with Ian before, and he doesn't know how to handle it. Afraid he's going to say the wrong thing, he doesn't say anything at all.

"So that's why," Mickey continues, voice raw, "I protect myself. No one's going to mess with me if I'm on the side no one messes with. It's logic, Ian. This is Lima, not New York, or San Francisco, or whatever mythical places exist where people don't care if you're gay." He stares down at his knees. "I just want to get through high school with minimal torture."

Ian is quiet for a long moment. "But don't you get it? You're doing to others exactly what you're afraid will happen to you."

Mickey's whips his head around to look at him. "I don't hurt anyone."

"Because slushies are all in good fun," Ian counters. "Besides, you have shoved me."

"I don't enjoy it!" Mickey exclaims. "I'm sure you won't believe me, but I don't. I don't like being an asshole. I don't like having no friends. But I also don't want to get beat up and have my own ostracization beyond my control. You have no idea-" His hands fist the fabric of his jeans. "I try not to go out of my way to pick on people. It's usually required at the beginning of the year to set a precedent. To remind people to stay away from me. With you..."

The corner of Mickey's mouth turns up just a little, but there's a bitterness to it. "You fought back. So I had to fight harder." The tiny smile disappears. "I'm sorry I shoved you. What Karofsky said hit a little too close to home."

Ian has already forgiven Mickey, and takes his hand. Mickey jerks it from his grasp, eyes flashing that same frightened anger.

"What? You're gay, you don't have the _plague_." He takes Mickey's hand once more.

There is a faint tint to Mickey's cheeks, his features pinched. "Aren't you afraid I'm going to hit on you?"

Ian lets out a laugh. "Is that what you think people will think?"

Mickey raises his eyebrows.

Ian smiles. "No, I'm not afraid. You don't even like me."

Mickey's mouth twists into a smirk. "True."

"Careful, I think your McKinley alter-ego is rubbing off on you," Ian says.

"No, that's just me," Mickey says, nose upturned. "I may not like being a bully, but I am kind of a bitch."

Ian laughs again, he can't help it.

Mickey smiles and gently sets Ian's hand back down on his own knee, and clears his throat. "Anyway," his voice softens. "Seriously. Thanks. For not freaking out on me."

"It doesn't bother me," Ian says. "I knew a few guys at Dalton who were gay." At Mickey's curious look, he continues. "It's an all-boys private school with a no harassment policy. I know one of them transferred there specifically because he'd been bullied."

Mickey seems to consider this. "Why'd you leave?"

"My dad's job." Ian shrugs, frowning.

"You miss it?"

Ian nods, clasping his fingers together in his lap.

Mickey's eyes linger on Ian's hands. "I'm sorry."

Ian smiles. "It's okay. I made some friends here, it's not so bad."

Mickey's eyebrow arches. "The glee club?"

"How'd you know?"

"I just do." Mickey shrugs a shoulder. "Same way anyone knows anyone else's business at school. It just goes around."

"Oh. Well, yeah. I really like it. Everybody's nice, and I like singing." He peeks over at Mickey. "You should join."

"Glee club?" Mickey's reply positively drips with disdain.

Ian meets Mickey's disdain with sarcasm. "Yeah, _glee club_. You can _sing_."

"Never going to happen, it's probably one step below being openly gay."

Ian frowns and feels an unfamiliar ache in his chest. Mickey seems to be denying himself so many things, all for image and reputation. "You can slushie me every day. It'd still be worth it."

Mickey's expression deflates. "You really are something else."

Ian gives a questioning look, and Mickey just shakes his head.

"Well, anyway. We're performing at the pep assembly this Friday," Ian says. "Maybe you'll change your mind when you see how awesome we are. And I have the solo," he says, preening. Solos, he's used to, but he hadn't expected to get one so quickly when he'd just joined the group. Everyone seemed happy to give it to him, they said no one appreciated them at the school assemblies. Ian doesn't care, he just wants to perform.

Mickey groans. "Your funeral. You forget that I've gone here the last three years. Glee club performances have always been...interesting." He perks up. "In fact, I can't wait to see what happens. This is going to be funny."

"...You're excited about my social decline, aren't you?"

"Maybe just a little," Mickey says.

"Rude."

Mickey grins.

"No, really. You're the worst friend ever. Best friend. Worst best friend," Ian adds.

"Oh my god, you _know_ I was just messing with your mom when I said that," Mickey says.

Ian is beaming and tries to put an arm around Mickey. "Nope. It was a confession. A love confession."

Mickey tries to squirm out of his grasp, but Ian just holds on tighter.

"I'll puke, I really will-"

"Best friends forever!"

"-all over you, because of how sick you're making me feel-"

"With love? I'm lovesick, too. I always wanted such a fashion-forward friend. _Burberry_ , Mickey?"

"-I'm going to end you-"

"Can I borrow your Burberry? I'll swap you a Dolce and Gabanna button up," Ian says.

Mickey stops fighting, interest piqued . "...Seriously?"

Ian blinks. "Awww! Friends!" he bursts, and hugs Mickey to him.

Mickey sighs. "I hate you so much, you have no idea."

"Not when I bring you that D&G you won't," he says in a sing-song voice.

"...We'll see."

ooo

Mickey walks Ian to the door. Burt is watching football in the other room, and Ian calls out to thank him for dinner. He turns to Mickey, who is frowning again, worrying his lower lip.

"Promise you won't tell?" Mickey asks in a voice so quiet Ian almost can't hear.

"I promise," Ian says.

Mickey still looks unsure, as though out of the safety of his bedroom, Ian's word suddenly mean nothing. Ian doesn't blame Mickey. They do barely know each other and it isn't like Mickey has much reason to trust him. He isn't Ian, who tends to trust people immediately and automatically.

"You want to pinky swear?" Ian asks.

Mickey looks at him as if he's just spoken some alien language. "Excuse me?"

"Pinky swear." Ian holds up his pinky.

Mickey huffs out a laugh. "Uh. Okay." He holds up his pinky, which Ian clamps onto with his own.

Ian leans in. "Your secret's safe with me," he says, smiling.

Mickey looks up from where he's been staring at their pinkies, a little dazed, and nods.


	5. Chapter 5

Ian finds Mickey at his locker first thing in the morning.

"Hey," he says, sidling up with a smile.

Mickey turns toward him, eyes wide in mute horror. His eyes narrow and he calmly closes his locker. "What do you want, Ian?"

"Um." Ian frowns. "Just saying hi…"

"Hi." Mickey smiles sugar-sweet and completely fake. "Now leave me alone."

Mickey walks away. Ian watches until he loses sight of him in the moving sea of bodies that fill the hallway.

Maybe Mickey is just tired. Or maybe Mickey is still worried that he'll tell people. He decides to reassure Mickey so maybe he won't be so rude from now on. He jogs to the vending machine and gets a bottle of Coke, stuffing it into his backpack.

He's only a few minutes late to homeroom, but Mr. Abela never notices tardiness. Mickey is sitting in the back corner of the room and Ian bypasses his usual seat, Rachel and Finn's questioning looks following him as he slides into the desk next to Mickey. As quietly as possible, which isn't very quiet at all, he scoots his desk next to Mickey's.

"I brought you a present," Ian says, voice hushed, and pulls the Coke from his backpack, setting it on Mickey's desk. He smiles encouragingly.

Mickey gapes at him. "You…" He ducks his head low and whispers, "Are you an idiot?"

Ian's eyebrows furrow. "You're welcome?"

"What are you doing?" Mickey hisses, a red flush stealing up his neck.

"I was bringing you a Coke in case you're tired!" Ian whisper-yells.

"Ian." Mickey's lips thin into a line and he looks like he is trying very hard to be patient. "We are not friends."

Ian taps his chin with his pen. "Yes we are. You said. Best friends." He grins. And yeah, he knows Mickey was just messing around, but after last night he thinks they really should be friends. Ian wants to know more about Mickey; the Mickey that doesn't slushie people.

"Ian," Mickey growls and pauses. "Regardless of…last night. We're at school." At this he sounds less angry and more helpless than anything, and Ian frowns.

"But—"

"Go, Ian. I'm serious. You're going to get us both in trouble," Mickey says.

"None of your friends are even in here," Ian protests, pulling his backpack back onto his shoulder.

Mickey raises an eyebrow. "Quinn is friends with Santana, who occasionally sleeps with Puck."

Ian considers that. "I don't understand, how does Santana get away with being in glee, but you can't?"

Mickey snorts. "No one messes with Santana."

He looks down at his text book, effectively dismissing Ian.

Defeated, Ian gets up and slinks back over to his usual desk. Everyone in his group is looking at him, Quinn included. Ian sucks his lower lip into his mouth a moment. "I spilled his Coke yesterday in class. He told me I had to get him a new one or he'd…kick my ass or whatever," he says, half-heartedly making something up.

Rachel looks positively scandalized. "Ian!" She glares at Mickey, and Ian looks over just in time to see that Mickey has seen it. Great, now Rachel will probably get slushied and it's all his fault. "He's such a jerk," Rachel is saying, her attention back on Ian. She takes his hand and leans her head on his shoulder a moment.

Ian smiles a little at her attempt to console him. "It's okay. I shook the bottle before I came in here," he lies.

ooo

Ian finds a note from Mickey taped to the inside of his Gym locker.

Thanks for the Coke, but that was a thoughtless move.

Meet me outside by the dumpster near the small basketball court at lunch.

\- K

Ian smiles and shoves the note in his pocket, hurrying off to his next class.

ooo

Ian shows up to their meeting spot in a trenchcoat, bright pink fedora, and dark sunglasses. The look on Mickey's face is well worth it.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Mickey asks.

Ian grins. "I'm trying to stay incognito for our secret rendezvous."

"Oh my god," Mickey groans. "Must you be this dramatic?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who requires secrecy. I'm just trying to help you out."

"Oh yes, FBI sunglasses, a pink fedora, and a trenchcoat is very inconspicuous. Where did you even get this ridiculous thing?" Mickey asks, touching the sleeve of his coat. "It's like three sizes too big for you."

"Drama club," Ian says, batting Mickey's hand away. He probably wants to tailor it on Ian where he stands.

"And you really thought you wouldn't be teased at this school?" Mickey says, smirking almost fondly.

"Hey, I was very popular at Dalton. People appreciated my charm and humor."

"Of course you they did, all-boys schools are full of sexually-repressed nerds."

"Hey!"

"Anyway," Mickey says. "I'm going to make this quick, though I really shouldn't have to explain this to you in the first place." He leans against the wall, arms crossed, voice gone serious. "I've built myself a certain reputation, as you'll recall? And befriending you would destroy it. So please, it would benefit us both if you don't approach me in public."

Ian frowns, watching the effortless way Mickey raises his walls back up around him. "Is it really worth it, Mickey?"

"Of course it is," Mickey says immediately.

"But they aren't your friends—"

"And neither are you," Mickey snaps.

"Yes I am."

"Ian, you hardly know me."

"And they do?" Ian asks, pulling his sunglasses off. Mickey is watching him, an unreadable look in his eyes. "I know something about you. I know a few things."

Mickey's expression is thunderous. "You said you wouldn't tell."

"What? Of course I won't. That wasn't a threat, Mickey, it was a fact," Ian says, stepping closer. "I know…that. And I know that you care about your father. I know you take care of him." I know about your mother. "I know that you're saving up to buy an old car. I know you care about fashion, and music, even if you won't admit it. I know you like Vonnegut and birds and Broadway." Mickey hasn't actually said as much about a few of those, but Ian is observant and it's all laid out in Mickey's bedroom.

Mickey is staring at Ian with wide eyes, clearly not having expected that. Ian takes his silence as an opportunity to continue.

"Do they know that?" Ian asks. "They probably don't think you care about anything at all." Mickey looks away. "And if they knew, what would they say? They would use it against you. But I think it's great. I love music and Broadway and I try to dress nicely, and I've never read Vonnegut, but I bet it's great. And I don't care if you're gay."

Mickey's gaze snaps back and his hand flies up, covering Ian's mouth. "Stop. Just stop."

His blue eyes are piercing. Ian simply looks back, letting out a breath through his nose.

Mickey slowly lowers his hand, looking away again. He drags the palm that had been on Ian's mouth over his sleeve, curling his fingers in the fabric. "You're brave, Ian. I'm just not."

"That's not true," Ian says, shaking his head.

Mickey looks at him. "Haven't you ever been afraid of something?"

"The dark?" Ian blurts out.

Mickey lets out a startled laugh. "The dark?"

"Hey, don't make fun of me, it's a legitimate fear," Ian huffs.

"Better than clowns, I suppose."

Ian feels uneasy. He isn't such a fan of clowns, either.

"Look," Mickey says. "I know they aren't real friends. No one understands that better than me. I just want to finish High School, then I can make all the friends I need in New York."

"New York?"

Mickey hesitates. "I want to go to Parsons. It's a school for design—"

"I watch Project Runway," Ian says.

Mickey gives him a strange look. "…You do?"

Ian blushes. "So? I think the clothes are cool!"

"Well. That's what I'd like to do. Not go on Project Runway, but…be a designer." Mickey's cheeks have taken on that pink tinge again. His complexion is so pale it shows everything. It's kind of endearing.

"That's really great, Mickey," Ian says.

Mickey smiles softly. Ian can tell it's hard for him to open up like this and decides to lets him off the hook. "Can I have your phone number?" he asks.

Mickey looks at him suspiciously. "What for?"

"I dunno," Ian says, and shrugs. "Maybe I'll want to tell you something, and then I won't have to bother you and get slushied for it."

Mickey seems reluctant, and it's a moment before he answers. "Well, alright. Give me your phone, then."

Ian hands him his Android, which Mickey takes delicately. He enters his info into it and returns it with a nod. "I can't imagine what you'd need to tell me, but there."

"Thanks." Ian beams, pocketing his phone. "So, I guess we should get back to lunch before it's over."

"Mm. I'll go first. You wait a few minutes so it doesn't look like I'm being stalked by the Pink Panther." Mickey smiles a little and taps the rim of his fedora.

Ian grins, lopsided. "Yes, sir."

Mickey turns to leave when Ian remembers something. "Mickey, wait—"

Mickey looks over his shoulder, eyebrows arched in question.

"In homeroom…I saw the way you looked when Rachel was, um…looking at you." He takes a breath. "Don't slushie her, okay? She's a nice girl. She doesn't deserve it."

Mickey's eyes go cold, mouth in a grim line. Ian hadn't expected him to get angry at his request, and he suddenly wishes he hadn't mentioned it. "You think you can tell me what to do now?" he finally asks.

"No. I'm just asking you not to," Ian says, frustrated. "If you have to slushie somebody to keep Karofsky and the rest off your back, slushie me instead, okay?"

"God, you're a moron," Mickey hisses, and stalks away.

ooo

Mickey still seems pissed off in French class, and since chewing on his pen cap and staring at the back of Mickey's head isn't conducive to anything, Ian texts him.

Ian: my middle name is Mickey not FART

Mickey's phone vibrates and he turns in his seat to glare at Ian a moment. Ian looks back, wide-eyed. How did he know?

Mickey: Excuse me?

Ian grins and texts back under his desk, hoping Mickey has turned his phone to silent mode.

Ian: don't you watch the office?

Mickey: No

Ian: fail

Mickey: This is textual harassment and I'll have you know it's a punishable offense.

Ian: are you still mad at me?

Mickey: You are like a 5 yr old child. No.

Ian: thanks for not slushing rachel

Mickey: It's been a half hour, Ian.

Ian: i'm thanking you in advance!

Mickey: How do you know I won't?

Ian: because you love me :)

Mickey: You aren't my type.

Ian: it's a friendship love….. a bromance!

Mickey: No thank you.

Ian: you want it to be something more? i'm not ready for the next step Mickey

Mickey: I'm going to block you.

Ian: :(

Ian: :(

Ian: :(

Mickey: :(

Ian: :

Mickey: What exactly is that supposed to be?

Ian: a cow :)

Several minutes pass before Mickey finally texts back.

Mickey: :V

Ian: a duck?

Mickey: You.

Ian: that isn't very nice

Mickey: Guilty as charged.

Ian: you won't slushy rachel?

Mickey: Dear god, this again? No, I won't. But this is a real hardship for me, Rachel Berry is insufferable.

Ian: no it's not i know you don't like being mean like that. and she is not, she's sweet

Mickey: You'll both have lovely hobbit children, I'm sure.

Ian: so rude! we aren't dating. she likes finn

There is another long pause.

Mickey: Typical.

Ian: except he's dating quinn

Mickey: I don't want to hear your glee club gossip.

Ian: i can tell you a joke instead. ….a priest and a little boy walk into the woods together. "i'm scared," says the little boy. "what are you scared of?" says the priest, "you aren't the one that has to walk out of here alone"

Ian doesn't hear Mickey laugh, but he does see him smile, chin rested on his palm so he can hide his mouth behind his fingers.

Mickey: Disturbing, yet funny. I'm surprised. Sois attentif en classe, sinon tu couleras.

Leave it to Mickey to send him a text message in French. Ian is pretty sure it says to pay attention or he'll fail.

Ian: d'accord. je serai sage. au revoir :)

Mickey: Cretin.

ooo

The next day, at lunch, Ian texts Mickey again.

Ian: are you eating the macaroni? i think the cheese is mixed with rubber cement

Mickey: I make a point not to eat anything with a face.

Ian: ? it was chicken patties yesterday and i know u got one

Mickey: Yes, and did you see a face?

Ian is about to reply, when Mickey sends him a picture of the macaroni on his plate shaped into a face. "Oh my god," Ian says out loud, grinning at the absurdity of it.

Rachel looks over, curious. "Someone's happy."

"Uh…" Ian can't stop smiling. It's just so funny. "It's nothing."

Mercedes is looking at him like she doesn't believe a word of it, and Ian tries to school his expression. He texts back.

Ian: that's a masterpiece. you should show it to mr. bishop

Mickey: He wouldn't appreciate it.

Ian: so many artists go unappreciated until they die….

Mickey: Are you trying to tell me something, Ian?

Ian: yes, don't be an artist

Mickey: LOL. Shoo now, my tablemates keep trying to see my texts.

Ian: bye :)

Rachel is still watching him, eyebrows drawn up in worry. Ian doesn't understand.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

She sits a little straighter and her expression goes back to normal. "I- It's nothing. I'm just…concerned. That you aren't prepared for your solo at the pep assembly. I, for one, think it would benefit you to practice with someone experienced. I am very familiar with the stage and the best ways to tilt your face against bad lighting." She smooths the skirt of her dress. "No one at this school seems to understand how to properly direct the lights during a performance."

By the end, Ian isn't sure how this conversation even started. "Uh, sure, Rach. We can work on it."

"Really?" Her smile is brilliant. "Tomorrow, after school?"

"Sure, I'll meet you at your locker."

Rachel, still smiling, goes back to eating and listening in on Mercedes and Tina talking about whatever. Ian looks back to his phone, wishing it'd light up with a new message.

ooo

On Thursday, during Government, it's Mickey who texts him first.

Mickey: Can I copy your notes from Bio today? I can't find my notebook. Went back and looked but it wasn't there.

Ian is so surprised and stupidly excited to get the text he nearly forgets to hide his phone while replying.

Ian: that sucks! hope you don't have anything personal in there

Mickey: Yes, I keep a diary and bring it to school. That would be smart of me. Now can I or not?

Ian: ask nicely

Almost ten minutes pass before Mickey replies.

Mickey: May I copy your notes, please?

And because Ian is sometimes kind of a dick (though in a harmless way!)…

Ian: what's the magic word?

Mickey: I won't dump a slushie over your head?

Ian: wrong

Mickey: Fine. I already said please, so I don't know. Pretty please?

Ian: are you calling me pretty?

Mickey: Never.

Ian: wrong

Mickey: I'll get them from someone else.

Ian: who?

Mickey: Anyone.

Ian: the magic word is ALOHAMORA

Mickey: That's to open doors.

Ian: you read harry potter?

Mickey: I am a fully functioning oxygen-breathing bipedal homosapien. Yes, I've read Harry Potter.

Ian: are you in pottermore!?

Mickey: Maybe.

Ian: what house!?

Mickey: Slytherin.

Ian: LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Mickey: Let me guess, you're a Hufflepuff.

Ian: how did you know?

Mickey: I'm psychic.

Ian: what's your username? i'm PixieDust23

Mickey: Wow. You do know there are like five names to choose from, right?

Ian: pixies are cute! :) :)

Mickey: My username is BronzeCentaur90

Ian: i'm adding you right now! i'm going to sneak into your dorm and put itching powder in your bed

Mickey: And I'm going to magic you to the Forbidden Forest because Fluffy's hungry.

Ian: i'll put him to sleep with my flute

Mickey: Keep your pornographic thoughts to yourself, please.

Ian: wow you have a lot of house points

Mickey: So, about those notes…

Ian: sure but then you owe me

Mickey: Thank you.

Ian: bye bronze centaur….. lol

Mickey: Sigh.

ooo

So maybe their friendship is now mostly via text message, but it's better than nothing. Not that Ian can, if asked, explain why exactly it is that he wants to be friends with Mickey in the first place. He just…does. Mickey is funny, and smart. Ian thinks he's lonely, too, which is something he understands.

Ian sends Mickey a text on Friday morning during Calculus.

Ian: so…about that favor you owe me. i want you to sit somewhere at the assembly where you'll be able to see. don't skip, don't sit in the way back. i want you to see me.

Mickey: I see enough of you as it is. Three classes together, it's like they're trying to torture me or something.

Ian: funny. i'm serious. i want you to see me perform!

Mickey: If you want to embarrass yourself, fine by me.

Ian: :)


	6. Chapter 6

_I want you to see me_. That sentence is doing things to Mickey. Things he doesn't want to think about, things he certainly doesn't want to own up to.

What is he supposed to do, though? Ian is like a puppy dog yipping for attention. _Always_ around. And he doesn't have the heart to tell him to get lost for good. Part of it, he knows, is because Ian knows his secret. And _boy_ was he stupid that night. He's never been so careless. It's like the weight of his secret, this part of him, built up and up until there was nowhere left to go but out. So out it came.

 _He_ came out.

He came out to _Ian Gallagher_.

Just thinking about it makes Mickey go cold all over.

And yet…somehow, just a little - not that he will admit this to a living soul - he kind of trusts Ian. Deep down he doesn't think Ian will tell. Ian is too _good_ , he wouldn't want to hurt Mickey. Still, though, only a few people on the internet who live entire states away know about him, and for someone here and real knowing, it's scary and dangerous.

There's a worse part, though. The part Mickey refuses to think about, even in the middle of the night. Instead he'll cast his mind elsewhere; song lyrics, homework, doesn't matter. Anything that has nothing to do with Ian Gallagher.

So it's with a slight sense of foreboding that Mickey sits down in the second row of gymnasium bleachers. Karofsky and Azimio are going to give him shit for not cutting, which is hilarious considering they're _football players_ , and who else is this stupid assembly for? Puck will be here because he likes the cheerleaders' skirts. Mickey glances around for him but doesn't see him.

Mickey lets out an unsteady breath and waits for the show to begin.

Glee is, of course, one of the last performances. Mickey has to sit through the cheerleaders, the majorettes, the band, even the freaking _flags_. No, seriously, who joins the _flags_? Mickey wonders how glee can be bottom rung when this school has the _flag squad_.

His uncharitable thoughts are interrupted when Principal Figgins comes over the mic.

"And noooow," Figgins says, somehow managing to sound bored and enthusiastic all at once, "for your enjoyment, New Directions!"

A somewhat familiar beat starts up and the members of New Directions pour out onto the stage in formation. They're wearing red pants or skirts and white tops, but Mickey only really sees Ian. His shirt is very snug (like his pants, Mickey can't help but notice), adorned with a blue and red striped bow tie - god, he's going to get himself killed if he keeps dressing like this - hair gelled down, and that ridiculous sunshine look on his face.

He just looks…stylish, and..dashing, and _dapper_.

Which. Is kind of Mickey's thing.

"Before _you met me, I was alright, but things were kinda heavy, you brought me to life_ ," Ian sings, leading the other members in choreographed moves.

" _Now every February, you'll be my Valentine…_ "

Ian jumps off the stage and onto the gymnasium floor.

" _Valentine…"_

And the other members follow.

" _Let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love_ ," Ian's singing, and Mickey can barely breathe, because what the hell, Ian is staring _right at him_.

The New Directions are all over the gymnasium, but at any time that it seems humanly possible, Ian is singing to him, and that's not fair. It's just really not, because Ian's shirt is tight and his pants are tight and he looks _really_ good, and his voice is _really_ good, and he keeps looking at Mickey and it's making him blush.

" _You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream!"_ Ian points at him and Mickey blushes, looks around, afraid, but it seems that everyone in the general vicinity thinks Ian is pointing at them. The girls are leaning into small clusters, giggling, and Mickey has to assume the guys are looking at Brittany and Santana because he doubts they're all cat-calling Ian.

" _The way you turn me on…"_ Ian dances over toward his part of the bleachers, and Mickey has to put his backpack on his lap. _"…My heart stops when you look at me, just one touch, now, baby, I believe._ "

Why is Ian doing this to him?

And…wait. That's exactly it. Why _is_ he doing this?

Revenge. Clearly. Ian is more clever and manipulative than Mickey ever imagined. Hufflepuff his _ass_. It's the only explanation; Mickey bullied Ian and Ian's friends, Ian learned his big secret, and now Ian's using it against him.

And maybe Mickey deserves it, but that doesn't make him any less pissed off.

With one last look, Ian makes his way down the line, dancing in a way that should be illegal. Thankfully no one seems to notice Mickey at all, they're too busy going nuts.

Mickey stands his backpack up on his knees, peeking out from behind it for the rest of the performance. He's going to kill Ian for this. He glares Ian's way, trying to convey his deep, deep hatred. But it's too late, Ian's already traipsing off to the stage with the rest of them, the number finished.

Ian will pay. Mickey is not going through the Finn thing all over again. He told himself after that that he'll just have to wait for college until he can open himself up to the possibility of, well. Anything. And as far as allowing himself to form some infatuation with another straight boy? _Hell no_. Even if the straight boy has really nice— _no_. Down that road only danger lies.

His pocket buzzes. Mickey takes out his phone, giving it a disdainful look.

 **Ian** : what did you think? :)

Mickey grits his teeth. Does Ian really think he's so stupid?

He doesn't answer right away.

 **Mickey:** Meet me in the lobby Monday morning before homeroom.

 **Ian:** ok?

Mickey turns his phone off and escapes the gym before Ian has a chance to seek him out.


	7. Chapter 7

Mickey ignores all ten of Ian's text messages, and Ian can't figure out why. Maybe he wants to talk about the performance in person? But why then doesn't he just ask to meet Ian after school? It was Mickey's idea not to talk in public in the first place, and now he wants to meet in the busiest place in the whole school?

It makes no sense to Ian, but Mickey asked, and so Ian waits. He tugs impatiently at his satchel strap, chewing at his bottom lip. He's never been very good at waiting.

When Ian sees Mickey coming his way he smiles wide, tries to tamper down on his eagerness, it's just-

Mickey and...Karofsky? And Azimio and Puck?

Ian just looks at Mickey, doesn't say anything, gaze questioning.

Before he even realizes what they're holding, he's hit with four consecutive slushies. He gasps, it's so cold. _So_ cold. _Mickey..._

"Do not. Fuck with me," comes Mickey's voice in a dangerous hiss, followed by a hard shoulder bump that sends him stumbling, slipping in the mess. He falls on his butt in the middle of the lobby, covered in slushie. He hears laughter and catcalls and pseudo commiserative groans and wipes desperately at his eyes. Part of him is waiting for Rachel to come help him with her towel, but no one's there. No one who has his back, anyway.

Shivering, shaking from more than just cold, Ian stands up. His eyes already sting, but he forces them open and looks around, having never felt so embarrassed. He's soaked, head to toe. He has a change of clothes in his locker, but he _can't_. He feels betrayed. It's not like Mickey ever promised to be his friend, but Ian did make him smile a few times, and. It's just. He doesn't know. It just _hurts_.

Humiliated, he leaves school. It's the first time he's ever skipped in his life.

ooo

His mom isn't home, thank god. Ian takes a long, hot shower and curls up in bed. A nagging part of him wonders if he should go back. He can at least make his last four classes of the day, but Mickey is in two of them, and...

He can't.

Ian looks at his bedside table where he has picture frame after picture frame filled with photos of the friends he grew up with and the friends he met at Dalton. Wes, David, Jeff and Nick, his best friends from the Warblers. He picks up his favorite, a photo from last year's Regionals. They'd lost, but god, it had been fun. He misses them with an almost desperate ache. No one at Dalton would have done this to him, and not just because of the no harassment policy.

With a sigh, Ian puts the photo down and checks his cell phone. He sees six new messages and, a little surprised, starts going through them.

 **Rachel:** I heard about what happened! I can't believe it! Where are you now, are you okay?

 **Tina:** Ian I'm so sorry.

 **Artie:** triple slushies are the worst yo

 **Rachel:** Did you leave school?

 **Mercedes:** oh boo. hate to say I told u so. once a jerk, always a jerk. :(

 **Rachel:** Call me later.

Ian texts them all back telling them he's fine, he'll be back tomorrow, he just couldn't rock a soaking wet multi-color stained look.

In the middle of answering Rachel he gets another text from...Unknown Number?

 **Text:** shit son what did u do Mickey is PISSED at u

Ian texts bacMickey: who is this?

 **Text:** Santana obvs

Moving beyond the startling fact that _Santana Lopez_ has his phone number (the entire history of their relationship has been Santana either ridiculing him or trying to hit on him during glee club, which in and of itself is mildly terrifying), he can't believe what she's saying. What did _he_ do to Mickey? _Him_? He hasn't done anything! Never once has he been cruel to Mickey!

He texts her bacMickey: I haven't done a thing. I'M not the school bully

 **S:** watch ur back Gallagher thats all i'm saying

 **Ian:** i don't know where it came from, but thank you for your concern

 **S:** any time stud. so what r u wearing? ;)

Ian rolls his eyes.

 **Ian:** bye santana

 **S:** ur no fun

Ian sighs and tosses his phone on the mattress, burying his face in his pillow. Maybe a nap will help him feel better. Only, every time he tries to clear his mind it goes back to "what did you do?" and "watch your back" and the cold look on Mickey's face before he slushied him. He's done nothing, why should he have to watch his back?

No, he's not going to watch his back. He's not going to put up with this.

If Mickey Milkovich wants a fight, Ian will give it to him.

ooo

Ian makes sure to get to school late. He takes a different route than usual to get to homeroom just in case, and makes sure he's late for that, too. The door is open and he walks right in, not one shred of nervousness in him. He looks for Mickey, sees him right off, but first throws his group of friends a smile and a thumbs up. They look at him with wide eyes.

It isn't so much him, he's sure, but what he _has_.

Ian walks right up to Mickey's desk. Mickey is working on something and looks up as Ian's shadow falls over him. Before Mickey can say a word, Ian dumps an orange slushie over his head. It's the worst color and flavor they come in, and it's _all_ for Mickey. Mickey gasps and sputters.

" _It's on_ ," Ian says, backing away with a smug smile. The class explodes into talking, laughter, disbelief. A few people even applaud.

"Ian Gallagher!" Mr. Abela starts, but Ian cuts him off.

"Principal's office?"

" _Now_!"

Ian gives Mickey a little wave goodbye, another smile for his friends, who look both parts worried and thrilled, before finally leaving the room. Sure, he's probably going to get into trouble, and yeah, he just gave the bullies a legit reason to mess with him, but he stood up for himself and Mickey _finally_ got a taste of his own medicine.

Now if he can just ignore the small voice of guilt in the back of his mind.

ooo

There's a reason slushies are given in the hallways. When your only witnesses are people who are too afraid of you to rat you out, and generally the people you slushie you are too afraid to rat on you, you get off scot-free. When you slushie someone in the middle of a classroom, especially with a teacher present, well, you're screwed.

Ian doesn't care. He bets Mickey and his 'friends' never had the balls, never had the _courage,_ to play bully in a classroom like that.

Figgins says he's had complaints about Mickey before, and since Ian has otherwise been a model student, he gets detention for a week instead of suspension.

Ian secretly wishes it had been suspension. If his mother thinks he isn't getting along well at McKinley, maybe he'd be able to talk her into going back to Dalton. Is detention enough, though? He hopes it is. If not, maybe he'll just have to join Mickey and the others in their delinquency. Not bullying anyone, but maybe just tipping over trash cans and not handing in his homework on time or something.

Ian feels wild and untethered, he feels like he can do anything.

ooo

Ian has gym with Mickey, Karofsky and Azimio, so it's pretty much the worst combo ever. When Mickey walks into the gymnasium, Ian sees that he's clean and in different clothes. He's shocked Mickey didn't skip. He wonders if Mickey had to call his dad to bring him clothes, wonders what he told him.

 _He deserved it_ , Ian reminds himself.

Ian's one saving grace is that they aren't doing team sports today, they're doing basic exercise, so at least there's no possibility of being paired up with Mickey or the others.

He can't, however, avoid them in the locker room.

Freshly showered, changed, and ready to go, Ian shuts his locker, turns, and gets slammed into it. Hard. Karofsky has him pinned to the locker wall with Azimio hovering next to him. He can feel one of the locks digging into his back and winces, squirming.

"Not so fast," Karofsky says. "We need to have a word."

"Just one?" Ian replies, his voice coming out slightly wheezy from the force of the shove.

"New kid thinks he's funny!" Azimio says.

"He won't think it's so funny when he has my fist down his throat!" Karofsky snaps.

Ian squirms, tries to get away. He'd just rather not get punched in the face is all. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he says, struggling against Karofky's hold. It only tightens.

"Some _privacy_ ," Karofsky barks, slamming him into the locker again for emphasis. He glares around the room and its remaining occupants scatter.

"Better. Now, I'm gonna remind you of your place at this school." Karofsky pulls his arm back, gearing up to punch, when there's a sharp, " _David!"_

Karofsky jumps a little and turns. "Oh, Milkovich. Perfect timing-"

Mickey's glaring at Karofsky. "What is this? You don't think I can fight my own battles?" he asks, walking into the room.

Karofsky drops his hands, looking petulant. "We're just trying to teach the dork a lesson."

"No, you just like to hit things," Mickey says, contemptuous. His gaze lands on Ian, who juts his chin out, unafraid.

"I'm not going to fight you," Ian says, slowly edging his way away from Karofsky.

Mickey raises an eyebrow. "And what, then, will you do?"

Ian shrugs. "Nothing." Karofsky and Azimio laugh, so Ian continues, looking only at Mickey. "Because I like you."

Mickey's expression is unreadable, but he looks away. Karofsky and Azimio are really laughing now.

"Oh man, listen to this fag!" Azimio says.

"Dude, Mickey, he's got a crush on you!" Karofsky laughs.

"I knew he was a homo!" Azimio says.

Ian blushes in embarrassment, not for himself, but for Mickey. Mickey looks sick, trying to hide it behind an expression of anger, but Ian knows better.

"Thank you for the compliment," Ian says calmly, looking to Karofsky and Azimio. They stop laughing, clearly confused.

Azimio snorts. " _Excuse_ me?"

"It's not a bad thing to be gay. I don't care if you say I am." Ian looks back to Mickey until their eyes meet, holding his gaze for just a moment.

Ian starts to back out of the locker room, taking his time, hands in his pockets like he hasn't a care in the world. Like if he walks normally enough he won't spook any of the three boys into stopping him. "I know why you're threatened by me," he says to Karofsky and Azimio. "I understand your anger."

"You hate me because I'm smart. Because I'm not a loser like the both of you," Ian continues, pausing in the doorway. They're just _staring_ at him. "When I graduate, I'll go to New York, to Tisch or somewhere amazing, while you'll be here, serving the good folks of Lima their McDonalds." Karofsky looks like he's about to kill him, but Ian just smiles and strolls out the door.

As soon as he turns the corner he runs. He knows he pushed his luck back there, big time, and he won't be surprised if he pays for it later. For now, though, the looks on their faces is worth it.

ooo

Ian doesn't see Mickey at lunch, and surprisingly enough he's left alone. He has two afternoon classes with Mickey, and is ignored in both of them. Azimio tries to kick his chair out from under him in French, but Mickey cuts him a glance and Azimio rolls his eyes and leaves Ian alone. Mickey must have said something to them, and Ian can't help but wonder what. And why.

Wednesday is more or less the same, until after glee club.

Ian and Rachel are the last to leave, as Ian had promised to walk her out and she'd wanted to discuss her next solo with Mr. Schue after the meeting was over. She's on his arm, extrapolating the praises of Sondheim, when Ian looks to his car and sees Mickey leaning against it. Ian nearly stumbles off the curb. Mickey is waiting for him.

Mickey sees him and takes his hands from his pockets, crosses his arms but doesn't otherwise move.

Ian stops in his tracks. It takes Rachel a moment to realize, and she stops talking mid-sentence. She looks from Mickey to Ian, and jumps when someone beeps a horn.

"It's my dad," she says, looking at Ian with concern. "Do you want to come with me? Or I could stay?"

Ian glances around, but he doesn't see anyone else. He doubts that if Mickey has Karofsky or Azimio or Puck or whoever with him they'd bother to hide behind the few remaining scattered cars in the parking lot to ambush him or something.

"No," he says, clearing his throat a little. "Go on, he's alone and he won't do anything to me."

"How can you be sure?" Rachel asks, fingers tightening their grip on his arm.

"I just am," he says, giving her a reassuring smile. "Seriously, it's okay. I promise."

Rachel gazes at him, eyebrows drawn up in worry. "If you say so. Call me if _anything_ happens, okay?"

"I will." He gives her hand a squeeze.

She smiles uncertainly and leans up, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. As she lowers from her tip-toes she looks over at Mickey, expression cold. One last smile to Ian and she runs off to her dad's car.

Ian feels kind of bashful now and slowly crosses the distance to his car, and Mickey.

"Don't you two make a cute couple," Mickey greets him, his comment anything but friendly.

Ian ignores it. "Are you here to get back at me?" he asks, watching Mickey's face.

Mickey rolls his eyes, glances upward before settling his gaze on Ian. "I came to talk."

Ian waits. "Well?"

"I'm waiting for Berry to leave," he says, nodding his head toward her car.

Ian looks over. Rachel's sitting in the passenger seat of her dad's car, glaring at Mickey. He's touched by her concern, and smiles a little, waving her off. He can see her sigh and say something to her dad. The car slowly reverses; she gives one last wave as they leave the parking lot.

Ian looks back to Mickey when there's no sign of the car.

"You could have just called," he points out, coming to stand next to Mickey.

Mickey finally seems to relax some. He shrugs a shoulder. "I don't like talking on the phone much." He looks over at Ian, smiling faintly. "My dad thinks I'm being bullied now. Ironic, isn't it?"

Ian knocks his shoulder into Mickey's.

"Hey, abuse," Mickey says, smoothing a hand down his shoulder.

"I wouldn't want your dad to be wrong," Ian says. "How does the saying go? Dads are always right?"

"I think that's mothers."

Ian's mouth twists momentarily. "I hope not."

Mickey raises an eyebrow at him.

"I'm sorry about the slushies," Mickey finally says. It comes out a bit fast, but it sounds genuine enough. He clears his throat, eyes fixed on some point across the parking lot. "I thought you were making fun of me."

Ian hardly has a chance to process the apology and frowns, confused. "When?"

"At the assembly." Mickey looks toward the ground. "I thought you were getting me back for the way I treated you, and. You know I'm gay." His cheeks redden and he slants a look at Ian, not meeting his eyes. "And you sang that song," there's a brief pause, like he's trying to find the right word, "at me? In front of everyone?"

Ian blushes, mouth parting as he realizes how it must have come off. "Oh, no. No. I only...it's just." Now _he_ can't find the words. "You're my only friend here, aside from the people I was doing the performance with. I guess I just wanted someone to see it. My parents don't care about this sort of thing, and I don't often get to perform for someone whose opinion I care about." He knows he's rambling now, and stops. "I wasn't...I didn't pick the song."

Mickey just nods, back to not looking at him. He doesn't say anything at first, and then, "You care about my opinion?"

Ian lets out a breath, glancing over. "I thought we were friends."

"Well then." Mickey clears his throat and stands a little straighter. "You sounded shaky at first, pitchy during the chorus, and you make the most ridiculous faces when you sing."

Ian doesn't expect that, and it must show because Mickey sighs dramatically.

"Oh I'm _kidding_. Except for the part about the faces. You really do make ridiculous faces."

Ian mock pouts, though he can't help but feel pleased. "You liked it?"

Mickey rolls his eyes, but he's serious when he answers, meeting Ian's gaze. "You sounded great."

Ian has to look away when he smiles, because he's afraid he's smiling too much. "Thank you."

"God, you really are such a dork," Mickey says, but he's smiling, too.

"Friends?" Ian asks.

"Fine. But. On the downlow. I'm having a hard enough time keeping the guys off your back after what you pulled in the locker room."

"Oh my god," Ian says, fully turning toward Mickey. "I'm _really_ sorry about that slushie."

"As you should be," Mickey says, drawing himself up and facing Ian. "Orange, Ian? I _know_ that was on purpose. And I had dared to wear Paul Smith. _Paul Smith_ , Ian."

"Don't even, I was wearing my favorite Lacoste shirt on my first day," Ian says.

"Well." Mickey huffs. "I suppose, in a way, I deserved it. A little."

" _In a way_?" Ian says, raising his eyebrows.

"Maybe the quadruple slushie was a bit much..."

"You are a terrible person, Mickey Milkovich."

"And yet, you keep insisting on our friendship," Mickey counters with a smirk.

"I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment."

"How very masochistic of you."

"You have me all figured out," Ian says, and spins his keyring on his finger. "Want a ride home, sadist?"

"I was hoping you'd say that," Mickey says, moving to the passenger side of the car. When they get inside, he continues. "I didn't think you'd forgive me."

"I said I like you," Ian points out, starting the ignition. "Not _liked_."

"Such a Hufflepuff," Mickey says, flicking the bowtie Ian's wearing. Ian bats his hand away and laughs.

The car stereo starts up as Ian reverses and cuts into their conversation. "- _we will never be, never be anything but loud and nitty gritty!-"_

Ian can _feel_ Mickey judging him.

"Pink?" Mickey asks, and yep, there's the judging.

"What? It's fun!" Ian protests. Mickey starts searching the car. "Are you looking for a seat ejection button?"

"I'm looking for your CDs," Mickey says, running a hand between the roof of the car and the window visor.

Ian lifts the arm rest. "Help yourself."

"Thank you," Mickey says primly, and starts flipping through the sleeves. "Ian, do you own anything that isn't played on the radio?" With a sigh he finally finds something, and switches CDs.

Familiar music starts playing, and Ian smirks, chancing a glance over at Mickey. "Mickey, do you listen to anyone other than The Beatles?"

"I will smack you down like the imaginary hand of God-"

" _When I was younger, so much younger than today_ ," Ian starts to sing along, cutting Mickey off, " _I never needed anybody's help in any way_... Come on, I know you know the words."

With a dramatic sigh, Mickey begrudgingly joins in, his voice starting out much quieter than Ian's.

" _Help me if you can, I'm feeling down, and I do appreciate you bein' round, help me get my feet back on the ground, won't you please, please help me_?"

Gaining confidence, both of them are full-out singing by the end of the song, and jump right into The Night Before. However, as Ian gets ready to launch into You've Got To Hide Your Love Away, Mickey skips to Ticket To Ride.

At Ian's curious look, Mickey just shrugs. "It's not a favorite." He stops any further conversation by singing. "... _She's got a ticket to ride, she's got a ticket to ride and she don't care_..."

Ian joins in, and they get through about half the song before they arrive at Mickey's house. He pulls up in front and turns the radio down as Mickey climbs out of the car.

"Wait here," Mickey says, leaning against the open window for a moment before jogging up to the house and letting himself inside. He returns a minute or two later and thrusts his hand through the window. In it are several CDs. "Do yourself a favor and listen to something _pre_ -1990, hm?"

Ian takes them with a smile. "Hey, what do you think we were just listening to?"

Mickey snorts and waves a dismissive hand, backing away toward the house. " _Everyone_ likes The Beatles."

"See ya, Mickey." Ian waves.

"Uh-huh. Thanks for the ride." Mickey returns the wave and turns his back, returning to his house.

Ian keeps the Beatles CD in and sings along the entire ride home, smiling.

ooo

Mickey is the first to text Ian since their fight. Ian is filled with an odd sort of warmth, and he wonders what's wrong with him that he likes someone who is so often rude and prickly. He always takes to people fast, always assumes the best and trusts before it's earned. Mickey dented Ian's trust a little, but Ian knows deep down he's already forgiven him.

 **Mickey:** What is this hideous monstrosity on Katie Fisher's head?

Ian glances up at Mickey, sitting a few rows in front of him during French. Mickey looks over and tips his head subtly toward the girl in the aisle next to him, smirking.

 **Ian:** you are terrible  & i'm not playing along

 **Mickey:** But I think she's murdered a fox and a duck, sewn them together and made it into a hat. I'm concerned.

 **Ian:** be nice!

 **Mickey:** But I'm against hunting. And crimes against fashion. Mostly crimes against fashion.

 **Ian:** and i'm against failing my french exam

 **Mickey:** 1) Aren't you the one usually bothering ME in this class? 2) It isn't an exam, it's a test. 3) Do you really need help?

 **Ian:** 1 touche 2 still. 3 yes

 **Mickey:** I know I'm going to regret this, but my Thomas Engel Hart boots came in the mail and I've been in a good mood ever since, so, would you like my help?

 **Ian:** yes! :) :) :) thank you Mickey!

 **Mickey:** How about tomorrow after school?

 **Ian:** i have glee club. after glee club?

 **Mickey:** Fine. Your house or mine?

 **Ian:** my parents wont be home how about mine? :)

 **Mickey:** Alright, text me your address.

Ian texts Mickey his address, unable to keep the smile off his face. Their friendship feels so much easier now, like maybe Mickey had to test how genuine Ian was before he could really let himself _be_ himself. Ian can't wait to find out just who that person is.

ooo

When Ian pulls up into his driveway the next day, Mickey's already there, sitting in his car and waiting.

"You're late," Mickey says, getting out of his truck and crossing the yard.

"Sorry!" Ian says, looking as apologetic as he can. "Rachel was talking to me about this Wicked song she wants to do and I actually knew what she was talking about because of the CD you lent me and I totally lost track of time-"

The annoyance on Mickey's face dissolves. "You listened to it?"

"Yeah, about ten times," Ian says, grinning, and hops up the porch steps to unlock the door and let them in.

"There's hope for you yet," Mickey says, and though it comes out snarky, Ian can tell he's pleased.

Ian rolls his eyes and ushers Mickey inside. "Welcome to my home-" There's barking and a flurry of excitement coming from the kitchen that Mickey's staring at, wide-eyed, so Ian leads him over. "These are my dogs. My wittol baybees," he says, breaking into baby-talk. He can't help it, it's like a disease.

The two Pomeranians are bouncing up and down behind the gate keeping them out of the living room, yipping their tiny little heads off. Mickey reaches down to pet them. Or tries to, as they seem determined to be everywhere at once to lick and lick and lick.

"What are their names?" Mickey asks, withdrawing his hand.

Ian steps over the gate and starts to usher his puppies toward the back door to let them outside.

"My mom named them Coco and Chanel," he says, "but one is a boy so I re-named them Lord and Lady Gaga. She doesn't know. I may be giving them an identity complex, but they still come when I call them."

Mickey's just staring at him.

"…What? You don't like Gaga?" Ian asks.

"No," Mickey says, straightening, "I _love_ Gaga." There's a pause followed by an amused smile. "Are you sure you aren't on my team, Ian?"

Ian's eyebrows go up. "You are the _second_ person to ask me that. Should I be worried?"

Mickey grins, teasingly. "Maybe."

"To be honest, I-"

Mickey's grin fades, and Ian can feel Mickey's eyes like a weight on him.

"Nevermind," Ian says quickly, returning back over the gate. Mickey doesn't move much, so he has to squeeze past him, and for some reason it feels more awkward than it should. "You know, that's unfair stereotyping, by the way."

"No, you're right. Sorry," Mickey says, looking genuinely apologetic.

Ian smiles. "I forgive you. Come on, then, let's go up to my room."

There's hesitation, and then Mickey seems to perk up. "Can I look through your clothes?"

ooo

The thing is, sometimes Ian isn't sure if he knows just what he is. He doesn't think he's gay, but there were some moments at Dalton when he found himself watching some of the other boys. He never thought too hard on it, after all, he was surrounded by boys _all the time_. He didn't go out much, he didn't know many girls, so it was just...they were just _there_.

He doesn't think about people like that, really. He just doesn't.

His eyes drift to Mickey's ass as the other boy leafs through the shirts in his closet, trying to gauge if he's interested or not, but he just gets embarrassed and looks away.

God, he's going to be a virgin until he's forty.

"What's wrong with you?"

Ian looks up to find Mickey looking at him. "Huh? Oh, nothing. I'm- did you find anything you like?"

"Well," Mickey says, holding a dress shirt up to himself. "I don't think you are particularly fashion-minded, but you do have some very fine things." He drops down in front of where Ian's sitting on his bed, and takes his hand. "Ian, my dearest friend. Can I borrow this?"

Mickey's looking at him with such a funny, doe-eyed expression that Ian can't help but laugh. "That? Sure."

Mickey lets out a tiny squeal and stands, setting the shirt by his backpack.

"Okay, French." Mickey takes his books and notes from his backpack and starts setting up a study area at Ian's desk. He pulls up a second chair and sits, patting the one next to him. "Viens là mon petit avocat."

"...Did you just call me your little avocado?"

" _Very_ good!" Mickey smiles.

Mickey goes over their homework, the chapter, the vocabulary. Mickey makes Ian repeat every word and sentence, correcting him when his pronunciation is off and praising him when he gets it right. He drills him with flashcards and creates phrases for Ian to read and translate. Mickey is a great tutor and seems to have a grasp of the language that extends far beyond their class.

When Ian is supposed to be reading and familiarizing himself with the text, he notices Mickey looking at the photos on his desk.

"They're from Dalton," Ian says.

"Hm?" Mickey seems to come back to himself. "Your old school? Oh, of course. You miss your friends?"

Ian frowns, his gaze moving from one photo to the next. "Yeah," he says, quiet. "Especially Wes and David." He motions to a picture of the three of them taken after Sectionals during his sophomore year. "They were my best friends for three years."

"Aren't they still?" Mickey asks.

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course. It's just tough, Westerville is hours away, and mom pitches a fit every time I ask if I can take the car out there. That leaves the phone and the computer," Ian says, trying to keep his mood from dropping.

"Still..." Mickey looks at the photos for a long time, and Ian almost thinks the conversation is over, when Mickey speaks back up. "I would hate to have to wear a uniform."

"Don't you, though?" Ian asks, the words out of his mouth before he has a chance to think them through.

"What do you mean?" Mickey's asks.

Ian shifts uneasily, but continues. "You don't wear the clothes you _really_ want to wear to school. Probably hardly at all."

Mickey doesn't look pleased, his mouth forming a tight line and shoulders going tense. He looks at Ian down his nose, which Ian knows is a bad sign. "Do you want to pass your French test, or not?"

"Yes," Ian says, returning his attention back to his book. If Mickey doesn't want to admit he's making things awful for himself, then that's his prerogative.

By the time they end the lesson, the tension seems to have slowly seeped away. Ian feels much better about his chances on the test, grateful for Mickey's help. Mickey declines his offer to stay for dinner and leaves after Ian tries to convince him to duet on his karaoke machine.

When Mickey leaves, the house is quiet and still. Ian is used to being alone, it's not always a bad thing. Truth be told, most of the time it's preferable to spending time with his parents. But _this_ time Ian feels ridiculously and inexplicably lonely. Maybe Mickey bringing up Wes and David hit him harder than he thought. He has friends here, especially Rachel, and now Mickey. But they're all new friendships, and the glee club already seems to have their own cliques that he doesn't feel as though he's truly a part of yet. And Mickey. He thinks he can count Mickey as a friend now, even if only when they're alone. Even if Mickey still feels like a mystery to him.

ooo

It's two a.m. when Mickey texts him. Three texts in a row, otherwise Ian probably wouldn't have woken up to get them in the first place.

 **Mickey:** hey

 **Mickey:** Ian

 **Mickey:** Ian

Ian stares blearily at his phone, willing Mickey's texts to make sense.

 **Ian:** did u sit on ur phone? its 2am Mickey wtf

He can't even bother trying to figure out how to type words, still barely awake. Mickey takes so long to reply that Ian almost falls back asleep.

 **Mickey:** at puckks party

Ian does _not_ care about Puck's party, feels such a flare of annoyance that he can't even explain, and slaps his phone down on his bedside table, turning in bed to resume the really nice dream he'd been having. He's almost there when his phone starts ringing.

"I am going to kill you," Ian groans, fumbling for his cell. It's loud on the other end and he holds the phone away from his ear. "…Mickey?"

"Ian! I needed to talk to you!" Mickey yells. His words are slurred, which pretty much explains everything.

Ian winces. "At two in the morning?"

"It's _Friday_ , Ian. Oh my _god_."

"I still need sleep, oh my _god_ ," Ian mimics, because Mickey's seriously going to wake him up and then make him try to feel lame?

"I'm at a party! You wanna come?"

"Uh, no thanks, Mickey, Puck and I don't exactly get along." Ian fails to keep the acidic tone from his voice, too tired to care.

"Oh yeah…oh, Ian! I needed to call you. I called…I called 'cause I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I'm _really_ sorry I slushied you."

Ian rolls onto his back, rubbing at one eye. "Mickey, I know. We went over this already."

"Oh." There's a long pause. Ian can hear booming music and loud voices, and briefly wonders how much Puck's neighbors hate him.

"Mickey?"

"I just wanted you to _know_ , y'know?"

"Okay, Mickey. Thank you."

"We're friends, right?"

Ian smiles a little, even if Mickey is being completely annoying. "Yeah, Mickey. We're friends."

There's another long pause, and Ian's about to speak up when Mickey suddenly exclaims, "There's people having sex _right_ next to me."

"—Uh…"

"Gotta go."

Mickey hangs up, just like that, and Ian is left staring at his phone wondering what the hell. Ian supposes it was sweet of Mickey to apologize again, though, even if while drunk, maybe especially while drunk. He burrows back down into his blankets and pillows to fall back asleep, smiling to himself.

ooo

Ian doesn't see Mickey that weekend, but doesn't push it, not knowing quite what this friendship _is_ yet. Monday morning Ian slips Mickey a coffee in homeroom, hopefully without anyone noticing, "for my alcoholic friend" scrawled across the side in Sharpie. He was listening to the Dresden Dolls on the way to school and he couldn't help himself. Mickey smiles in thanks, but neither the topic of the party or the two a.m. phone call comes up.

Ian finds out that Mickey's been having trouble in his Trigonometry class, and their tutoring sessions suddenly become mutually beneficial. They meet at each other's houses, taking turns between the two. Ian loves Mickey's house. Mostly he likes when Burt makes dinner, or they help Burt make dinner and he gets to eat over. Dinner at Ian's house is always formal and quiet, but it's quite the opposite at the Milkovich household. Though it's just the three of them, they never seem to run out of things to talk about. Mickey and his father feel like a real family, like how real fathers and sons should be. Ian is admittedly jealous, kind of lives vicariously through Mickey when he comes over. Not that he'll ever say so.

He can't remember the last time his father said anything to him that wasn't required. But it's always been this way. Despite Ian's many attempts to please his parents, he doesn't measure up to whatever predetermined idea they had of a son. Straight A's, lead soloist of the Warblers, always well-groomed, always on time, mannerly and polite. None of it makes much of a difference.

Burt says things to him like, good job on the lentils, they don't taste like paste for once; Mickey told me you got an A on your French test, good job; thanks for helping bring in the groceries; thanks for helping with the dishes; thanks for helping Mickey with math, I never went as high as Trigonometry in high school. Ian soaks up Burt's praise without dwelling on it, just knows if he has the choice, he will choose Mickey's house over his every time.

Tutoring soon becomes _hanging out_ , and Ian finally gets Mickey to try out his karaoke machine. They sound good together, really good, but when Ian tries to bring it up, Mickey rebuffs him. If Ian tries to make it into anything other than nothing, Mickey will stop or Mickey will leave, and Ian wonders just how many things Mickey denies himself in the name of pride.

ooo

Ian is about to send Mickey a text to see if he wants to do something after school. Just as he's typing 'Do you,' a notification flashes over his screen for a new text.

 **Tina:** Rachel got slushied! Can you bring her things from her locker to the girls bathroom on the 2nd floor by the art room? locker combo 5-19-3

His jaw drops. _Mickey?_ Ian sends a quick text back and changes the direction he was walking. It's between periods so it takes him a little longer to get Rachel's spare clothes and up to the bathroom.

"I can't believe him," Ian says, pushing the door open. Tina's with Rachel at the sink, who's dripping blue all over herself and the floor. "I can't believe he did this to you!"

Rachel shivers and takes the towel from him with a grateful smile. It turns bitter as she answers. "Why not? They've always done this to me."

"It was Karofsky," Tina says, helping Rachel rinse the syrup from her hair.

Ian pauses, feeling bad for jumping to the conclusion that it had been Mickey. Still, though, that Mickey lets this _happen_. "Man, I'd really like to just-" He clamps down on his own thoughts, keeping them to himself.

"Ian, no, you'll just get yourself hurt. It's fine. I'm used to it," Rachel says, looking as resigned as she sounds. "Go ahead to class. There's no reason for all three of us to be late."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, go. Thank you for bringing me my clothes." She makes a shooing motion, and Ian reluctantly leaves the restroom.

He's late to French, and gives Mickey a good long glare as he walks into the room. Mickey's expression seems to say _what's your problem?_ , but Ian ignores him and sits. All through class Ian's anger grows, and as soon as the bell rings he stalks out of the room.

Mickey, perhaps surprisingly, catches up with him, tries to pull him aside where it isn't crowded and stop him. "What is your _deal_?" Mickey asks, as though _he_ has a right to be angry.

"What is _my_ deal? _Mine_?" Ian jabs a finger at Mickey's chest. "You and _yourfriends_ slushied Rachel. I asked you not to!"

Mickey looks downright affronted and pushes Ian's hand away. "I didn't do anything!"

"You're still one of them."

Mickey glares like he wants to burn twin holes right through Ian's head. " _And?_ "

"You like them, don't you?" Ian barrels on. "You hang out with them outside of school. You don't have to, but you do!"

"I thought you understood me," Mickey says, his voice unusually low.

Ian stops, because, though he's felt like Mickey's begun to trust him, here's the first real admittance. And Ian does, he does understand Mickey, at least mostly. He just doesn't agree with it. He's tired of this bully act. What's worse is that Mickey actually gets along with Karofsky and the others, even if just a little. It makes Ian furious in a way he can't explain.

"I do," Ian says. Amends. "I want to."

"I can't control them, Ian," Mickey says, jaw muscles clenched. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to keep them from _killing_ you?"

Ian swallows. "You could get them to stop-"

"They would turn on me. In a heartbeat. And then the both of us would be screwed, and not in a _fun_ way." Mickey's words have bite, and he steps back. "I have to go to class."

And just like that, he disappears down the staircase.

Ian glances around, but the hallway has cleared, more or less. There's a hallowed out feeling in his chest, and he walks dejectedly toward his next class.

ooo

Rachel's waiting for him at his locker after the last class of the day.

"Hey, Rach," Ian says with a smile, "what's up?" He spins the lock and opens his locker, still looking at her.

"Ian Warbler," Rachel starts, adopting Brittany's nickname for him. "I was wondering if you had a date to Homecoming."

Ian blinks. "I- no. I hadn't even thought about it. We didn't have Homecoming at Dalton."

"It's only the most important dance, second to prom!" Rachel says, looking up at him with her own brand of intensity. "And, well, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me..."

"What about Finn?" Ian asks, voice gentle. At the mention of his name, she looks so fragile and sad that he wishes he could take it back.

It's only a fleeting look. Rachel seems to gather herself up. "He's going with Quinn, of course. I'm over it, I can't wait around for him forever. He's not worth the heartache." She glances down. "And...I like you."

Ian knows he's blushing. He doesn't have a lot of experience with girls. He dated two, briefly, from Dalton's neighboring school - Crawford Country Day. His first girlfriend, Jennifer, was nice enough. They saw a movie on their first date, and she'd even kissed him good night, but he just wasn't that interested, and he thought she could probably tell because she ended up dumping him. The second was this past summer, but not long after they'd started dating he found out his family was transferring, so he broke up with her. He figured it was better to just cut ties before they fell in love. Or whatever.

So yeah, he kind of sucks at dating. He likes the idea of it, he just feels so awkward when it's actually happening.

He does like Rachel, though. She's nice and they have fun. And he _does_ like dancing...

"Sure," Ian says, smiling again.

"Really?" Rachel's whole face lights up. Ian feels a rush of happiness that he can have that effect on anyone, and feels his own smile widen. "Alright," she says, taking his arm, "I'll call you this weekend with the details of my dress so we can coordinate for the wrist corsage and boutonniere, and we can take your car, right? My dads will probably want to take lots of pictures, so don't be scared! And I think everyone in glee wants to meet up before or after for food, okay?"

"Yes?"

"Perfect! See you later, Ian!" Rachel leans up to kiss him on the cheek and traipses down the hallway. Ian watches her go, and spots Mickey walking the opposite way. Mickey gives Rachel a dirty look when she passes. Ian tries to subtly wave Mickey down.

Mickey rolls his eyes, but leans up against the wall near Ian. "What do you want?"

Ian fiddles with the dial on his locker. "Sorry for acting like a jerk earlier," he says, and means it. He glances over to look at Mickey.

"Fine. I'm sorry your manic, librarian, schoolgirl _friend_ got slushied," Mickey says, not sounding sorry at all, really.

Ian gives Mickey a frank look. "No you aren't."

"Well, maybe not," Mickey admits. "But I'm sorry it upset you?"

Ian rolls his eyes, pulls his Calc book from his locker, and heads down the hallway. Mickey falls into step. Not too close, though.

"I'm taking her to homecoming."

Mickey's mouth opens a moment, but nothing comes out. Ian can't read his expression, but can clearly tell his reaction is not a good one. "What a perfectly short couple you'll make."

"Just because you don't like her-"

"No, I mean it. You're very suited for each other," Mickey interjects. "Dark features, similar height, very well-to-do families. Mutual friends. The-" He waves a hand. "Singing. Finn. You're both two of the most irritating people I've ever met. It's perfect."

Ian can tell Mickey isn't happy, even if he's trying to sound like he's teasing, but he doesn't understand why. "Finn?"

"Nothing."

"You could come with us, if you want," Ian tries.

Mickey stops to stare at him. "Yes, that would be fun. Let me just go find a girl I can pretend to like so I can dance around like an idiot in a gym full of people I _hate_ -"

"Maybe there's a guy-"

"Oh, okay, I'll just play a nice game of gay Pokemon-"

"Geez, Mickey. What the hell is your _problem_?" Ian snaps.

"Nevermind, Ian. You wouldn't get it," Mickey says. " _Clearly_."

Mickey gets like this sometimes, rude and snarly, and it always seems to come out of nowhere. Usually Ian can charm Mickey out of his bad mood, he just wishes he knew what caused it, because half the time he has no idea.

Ian lets out a long breath. "Just..." He grabs Mickey's hand to pull him down the stairs after him.

" _What are you doing_?" Mickey all but screeches, yanking his hand away.

"I'm trying to take you to a movie!" Ian says.

A few people passing by look curiously toward them. Two girls giggle and descend the stairs with their heads tilted close together, whispering.

Mickey's face is red, eyebrows drawn, mouth in an exaggerated frown. He looks like he's a volcano on the verge of erupting. "You have lost your mind," he grits out.

"Going to the movies is _not_ that crazy, Mickey. Maybe you need to get out more-"

" _I hate you_ ," Mickey says, and he's moving again. "I hate you more than anyone."

"Really? Even Hitler?"

"Hitler doesn't _stalk_ me."

"I'm not stalking you!" Ian says, following him. "Have you gotten creepy notes in your locker? Flowers on your desk? Breathy phone calls in the middle of the night?"

"No, but I'm sure that's the next step."

Actually, it _does_ sound kind of funny...

Ian hurries to catch up. "Don't be mad, Mickey."

"I mean it when I say I hate you," Mickey says, walking briskly.

"More than gym class?"

"Yes."

"More than Wednesday Bean and Burrito Day?"

"Yes."

"More than when you go to a restaurant and you see this old guy sitting alone and you know his wife probably died and he's alone and lonely?"

"Yes."

"More than Karofsky?"

"Yes."

"...Ouch."

Mickey's still walking with him, though.

"Well, I have a secret for you," Ian says. Mickey doesn't respond, so he continues. "You're my favorite."

Mickey stops walking and looks at him for a long moment. "Look, if I agree to go to this movie with you, will you _shut up_? You can't talk during a movie, right?"

Ian smiles sweetly, rocking back on his heels. "I'll even buy you popcorn."

"You're going to have to do better than that if you expect me to put out, Gallagher," Mickey says, heading out to the parking lot.

Ian's eyes widen a moment and again he hurries to catch up. "What?"

"I don't put out on a first date unless it's spectacular," Mickey says.

Judging by the amount of blushing he's doing, and the amount of smirking Mickey is doing...Mickey is teasing him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ian says, and tries to come across like he means it.

Mickey makes a rude gesture with his fingers.

"Are you trying to imply we should churn butter together?" Ian asks, feigning innocence.

"Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?" Mickey quips.

"Hey Milkovich! What are you doing with that homo?"

Ian's eyes shoot up in surprise and meet Karofsky's. _Of course_. Mickey looks ready to kill.

"I'm about to fuck him up the ass, what do you think?" Mickey shouts back, poised, a look of cold fury on his face.

"Have fun, ladies!" Karofsky hollers.

"Not as much fun as you'll be having at the Pick 'N Save, I'm sure!" Mickey flips Karofsky off and climbs into his truck. He reverses and drives off without another word to Ian.

Ian glances back at Karofsky, but he's talking to another football player. Ian's relieved, to tell the truth, and makes his way across the parking lot to his own car.

Ten minutes later Ian gets a text from Mickey.

 _Pick me up at 6. Wear something nice._


	8. Chapter 8

Mickey seems to chill out about the whole homecoming thing, and even insists he help pick out Ian's suit. Ian's mother buys it for him, because if there's one thing that's never lacking around the Gallagher household, it's money. She even has it tailored. Sometimes he almost falls for this, these rare acts of kindness, mistaking them for real maternal affection, but he knows it's far more likely that she just enjoys flaunting their income.

Ian picks Rachel up at seven. He's been to her house before and met her dads, so at least there isn't any real added pressure. Just the five hundred pictures Rachel warned him about, and The Talk about taking care of their little girl. Ian is pretty sure he's blushing the entire time. Rachel looks like her smile might just break her face.

The gym is suitably crowded by the time they arrive, and after some Marco Polo via text message, they find the members of glee club who are already there, taking up most of a large, round table. There's a chorus of greetings and compliments about how amazing everyone looks. It's such a flurry of excitement that Ian almost forgets to pull Rachel's chair out for her. When he does, the entire female population of the table oohs as if on some hidden cue.

"Now you're makin' us look bad," Artie says.

"Well, general courtesy aside, I did take an etiquette class when I was younger," Ian says, charming smile and all.

Everyone gives him a blank stare.

"They actually have those?" Mercedes asks.

Ian can feel himself blushing from the way everyone is looking at him. "My parents like to feel like they're important."

"My parents work for NASA," Brittany says out of nowhere, and just like that the attention is blessedly off Ian, because what the hell?

Conversation flows easily after that, sometimes involving the entire table, more often breaking into smaller groups. Ian is slightly intrigued by Mercedes' boyfriend, as he's the only one of the group who isn't a member of New Directions. When Ian brings this up, the table starts telling him about all their inter-dating, which in turn leads to their mash-up names.

He fights for Rain because it's actually a word, and sounds kind of poetic, but he and Rachel are apparently Blainchel.

Ian is having fun mashing his name with everyone (Merlain, Bike, Blinn) when Rachel hears a song she likes and drags him to the dance floor. It's an 80's song by Human League that he likes it, too. They don't leave the dance floor for a long time. This wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, Ian loves to dance and he's fairly good at it, it's when the slow songs come on that everything goes wrong for him.

Slow dancing is easy, just hold each other close and sway in a circle, that isn't the problem. But, it's...boring, and that is the problem. Ian can't be one hundred percent sure, but he is under the impression that when you like someone and you get to hold them close and sway in a circle it should be exciting. Not rock-climbing exciting or anything, but that inward sort of thrill. The kind where every touch tingles and your heart beats too fast. Ian has never experienced it, but knows it has to exist. There are too many books and poems and songs that describe that very feeling to be wrong.

He was hoping he'd experience it tonight.

"…Ohh, my love, my darling, I've hungered, hungered for your touch, a long, lonely time…"

One of the most romantic songs in existence, and all Ian feels while dancing to it with Rachel is friendly affection.

ooo

Ian pulls up into Rachel's driveway and walks her to the door. He's filled with a sense of foreboding, like he's entering dangerous territory. It worsens when she turns toward him, hands going to his waist, face upturned and smiling.

"I had a lot of fun tonight, Ian. Thanks for taking me," she says.

"Me too," he says, trying to match her smile. He isn't sure if he succeeds.

Rachel's staring at him expectantly, and he knows what she's waiting for. It's his cue, and he can't think of a solid reason not to. So he does it, he kisses her. Leans in, closes his eyes, and presses his mouth softly against hers.

He doesn't feel anything beyond the touch of her lips, except maybe guilt. He knew this would happen, didn't want to admit it, but he knew one dance wouldn't change anything. Not a dance or a kiss. All he has ever seen when he's looked at Rachel has been a friend. There's certainly nothing wrong with her, she's beautiful and sweet and funny and that's the worst part. She really is perfect for him, but no matter what he does, he just can't make himself like her that extra little bit.

Ian hopes she feels the same. That maybe she was trying, too, but that he just isn't Finn.

When he pulls back he can't tell. Rachel leans back in and kisses his cheek. "Good night," she murmurs.

"Good night," he repeats, standing there stupidly as she lets herself inside.

He wonders if this means they're dating now, and trudges back to his car, hoping not.

ooo

Ian is about three minutes away from his house when he gets a text from Mickey.

Mickey: Where r u?

Oh, great.

Ian pulls the car over in front of someone's house and calls Mickey. He is so not spending the evening deciphering drunk texts.

Loud noise erupts from the other line, and Ian winces.

"Hello? Ian, s'at you?" He thinks he hears Mickey giggle.

"Yes. Where are you?" Ian asks.

"Miss you," Mickey says, all warm-like, and Ian glances around like there's anyone else who may have heard.

"Um. Okay, but. What do you want? Do you need me to pick you up, or something?" Ian asks, all but shouting into the phone to be heard on the other end.

There's a very long pause. "What?" Mickey shouts.

"I said. Do. You. Need. Me. To. Pick. You. Up?" Ian shouts back.

"Oh! Yes! Yes, come get me, Ian!" Mickey's laughing again, and there are voices he can't quite make out. "I'm at Club Rush! Ummm! It's- do you have a fake ID? Tell the bouncer you're with Puck, he'll let you in!"

Mickey hangs up after that, on purpose or not Ian isn't sure. He has no idea what Club Rush is, but a quick google maps check pulls it up as twenty minutes away.

Well, isn't this a perfect end to a perfectly awful night?

ooo

Ian maybe should have changed before showing up at Club Rush.

As it is, he skips the line in his suit (minus the boutonniere) and hopes that being so well dressed will make him look more mature.

"Are you kidding me?" the bouncer says, all ten foot eight of him, as he looks Ian up and down. Or rather down and down.

"I'm here to see Puck." At the bouncer's blank stare, Ian tries, "Puck sent me?"

Maybe this is the wrong bouncer...

"Kid, you better work on blending in. I'm not getting my ass in trouble for that punk again, even if he is my nephew," the bouncer says, ushering Ian in, making him stumble a little.

"Thanks?" Ian squeaks, but the bouncer's attention is already back to the line.

The place is loud. Loud, dark, and packed with people. Oh, this is just awesome. The phrase "needle in a haystack" has never applied more than in this moment. How does Mickey expect Ian to find him?

Ian's trying to text Mickey to meet up, when a girl starts grinding on him, and maybe if the strobe lights shine in his eyes just a few more times they'll blind him and he can pretend this isn't happening-

"You are so! Cute!" she yells against his ear.

"No thank you!" Ian says, trying to be heard over Ke$ha, to move on and text at the same time.

But no. Still with the grinding. Now her arms are around his shoulders and he hates Mickey so much.

Ian manages to text Mickey, even without having discovered how to disentangle the girl: where r u? im being atacked save me! ! im near teh front still ttoward the rt. He really hopes Mickey isn't too drunk to follow directions.

He doesn't get an answer. When the Ke$ha song transforms into Jennifer Lopez's On The Floor he's about to text again, and then the girl is turning her head, looking at a face attached to a Mickey-like body. Oh, it is Mickey. Except he looks half undressed and flushed and sweaty and jesus christ, Ian can't even.

"Hey, geddoff!" Mickey says, and stops repeatedly tapping her on the back, taking her instead by the shoulders to move her away.

"Excuse me?" the girl is shrieking, but before Ian can step in, Mickey drapes himself on Ian and waves her away. "Mine."

Ian literally has to grab Mickey's waist to keep from falling over. "Sorry?" Ian calls when the girl storms off. She yells something probably super derogatory, though, so he doesn't care so much if Mickey insulted her.

"Hi," Mickey says brightly, getting Ian's attention back on him. "Why're you here? I found a boy. A boy who is gay."

"Oh. Um. Well, you told me to," Ian starts explaining, feeling foolish and more than a little irritated. "Do you want me to-"

"Come meet him!" Mickey says, grabbing Ian's hand and pulling him around and through the crowd, toward the back corner. All around the room there are couches, chairs, and tables set up near the bars. They're garish purples and reds and Mickey drags Ian right over to one of them. A tall man with dark features has draped himself along one of the couches, likely to save it, a drink in each hand. He smiles when Mickey approaches, and spares a lingering look at Ian. It's kind of frightening; the guy looks like he wants to eat him up.

"Welcome back, baby. You found your friend," the guy says, sitting up and holding out the drinks. "I took it upon myself to get you both a round."

"You are sooo nice," Mickey says and crawls into his lap, bumping the guy's arm and spilling some of one of the drinks on his pants. Mickey doesn't even notice. "Give 'em to Ian 'n he can catch up!"

Ian suddenly has two glasses in his hands so Mickey and this guy can kiss. Ian just stands there and stares, because he's never seen a guy kiss another guy, and he's never seen Mickey like this. His hands tighten around the drinks, wanting to upturn them right over this sleazy jerk's head because he's kissing Mickey like...like- it is just not okay-

"Come on, c'mon," Mickey's saying, pulling away and trying to stand. His shirt is untucked, collar opened and unbuttoned. "I wanna dance."

"Whatever you want, baby," douchebag says, letting Mickey lead him onto the dance floor.

Ian sits down on the couch and watches them dance. He wants badly to pull Mickey away, carry him out of this place or something stupid like that. But he can't. Mickey is lonely, and Mickey probably really likes this guy and he'll hate Ian if he makes him leave. So Ian sits tight and forces whatever drink douchebag handed him down his throat, convincing himself that the burn in his stomach is from the drink and nothing else.

He watches them dance. Three different girls approach him while he works on his second drink, but he waves them all away. Has to physically moveone from his lap when she invites herself onto it. He doesn't want to dance, he doesn't want to make out with someone random. He has to make sure this guy doesn't take advantage of Mickey.

At what seems like the twentieth Britney remix, Mickey starts staring at Ian over douchebag's shoulder while they dance. Ian stares back until he feels uncomfortable. He's a little tipsy from the alcohol, he's sweaty from his suit, and anger has been building since he stepped through the door. He doesn't know what Mickey's trying to say, because there has to be a point to his staring, so Ian decides it means he wants Ian to save him.

Ian gets unsteadily to his feet and weaves through a few people to get to Mickey and his douchey boyfriend. Ian puts a hand on the guy's shoulder and tries to move him.

"I want to dance," Ian announces.

Douchebag turns, looking predatorily amused with Ian's sudden appearance. "Sure, I'll dance with you, sweetheart."

Ian frowns. "Not you," he says loudly, trying to be heard over the music. "Him." He points to Mickey.

"We-ll," douchebag says, affronted.

Ian doesn't even wait for anyone's agreement, just moves his body until it's between them.

"You really wanna?" Mickey yells over the music.

"It's Madonna! I like this song!" Ian says.

"'I'm A Slave 4 U?,'" Mickey says and laughs. He shrugs and continues dancing. Really dancing. Right up against Ian. Ian glances over his shoulder to look for douchebag, wondering where he went, and doesn't stop looking until he spots him at the bar. At least he got rid of him. For now.

Of course, now he's on the dance floor with his best friend rubbing up against him like a cat while Britney moans and pants, the bass so heavy he can feel it vibrating through his shoes.

Mickey's shirt sticks to his skin from sweat, shucked up a little, his hair is a tousled mess, face still pink from exertion and alcohol. He turns until his back is to Ian, grabbing Ian's hands and interlocking their fingers.

"Mickey-" Ian's mouth parts, but nothing else comes out as Mickey starts dancing close. Really close. Ian wasn't even aware hips could move like this, like they're a separate entity from Mickey's body. Worse, it feels good. Really good. Not because it's Mickey. It could be anyone. Friction against a guy's dick is kind of a universal turn-on, right?

It's too hot, too loud, he's too dizzy so he closes his eyes halfway and tips his head forward, face pressed to Mickey's neck. He's turned on and he knows he should move away, but he can't. Right now his legs feel like lead and Mickey's so nice and soft and easy to lean on.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder and he's sent stumbling backwards, eyes flying open.

"Song's over!" It's douchebag, stepping into Ian's spot behind Mickey. Ian yelps, and he'd say something else, but he almost knocks someone over. He apologizes to them and looks back to Mickey.

"-don't want to!" Mickey's yelling.

"So you're just a fucking cocktease?" douchebag's saying, too close to Mickey.

Whatever's happening doesn't sound very friendly, so Ian makes his way back over. "He doesn't want to!" he yells, even if he doesn't know what exactly Mickey just said no to. Whatever it is, douchebag doesn't want to hear it.

"You again?" douchebag yells. "What is your deal? I was here first!"

"I had Mickey first!" Ian yells back. "And by the way, he's seventeen and if you don't back off I'll have you arrested for...for being a pedophile!"

"Excuse me?"

Ian grabs Mickey's hand and leads him toward the door. They should have left a long time ago. Mickey doesn't fight it, hand gripping Ian's like a vice. He's saying something, but Ian can't hear it over the music.

The cool night air hits Ian like a tangible thing. He feels underwater at first with the music muted and the wind all around him, so much so that his hand tightens around Mickey's as though he might otherwise float away.

"I got you," Ian says.

Mickey giggles and drapes himself halfway along Ian's back. "That was fun."

"What about that was fun?" Ian says, pausing to look over at Mickey. "You're so stupid, Mickey! That guy was a creep! Who knows what he wanted to do to you?"

Mickey pushes himself off Ian, nearly teetering over. "So what? I have to be lonely forever?"

"I didn't say-"

"'Cause it's not like I got a lot of options! Finn's straight, Puck's straight, yo-"

"-Puck?" Ian screeches.

"His mohawk's sexy!"

Ian makes a face. He doesn't even know where to start.

"Oh, don't be so fucking judgmental, Ian, you wanna fuck Rachel Berry!"

"I do not want to...do that with Rachel Berry," Ian protests, going red in the face.

"You spend all your time with her, you go to dances with her, you look at her aaaaall the time," Mickey starts in.

"If you don't shut up I'll leave you here!"

"Fine, then leave me here!"

Ian just glares at him. Mickey glares back.

...And bursts out laughing.

"Your eyebrows are like little triangles," Mickey says, giggling.

"Yeah, well." Ian's gaze darts around Mickey's face, looking for some flaw. "Your skin is really pale!"

"I'm pretty like a porcelain doll," Mickey preens, giving an unsteady twirl.

"I'm leaving," Ian announces.

"Me too!" Mickey says, and grabs the waistline of Ian's pants like reins to a horse, merrily following him.

It takes three tries for Ian to unlock his car, and five minutes to get Mickey out of the drivers seat and convince him no, he can't drive, they will both die. Finally they're on the road, when Ian realizes something.

"...Wait. Where am I taking us? I can't bring you to my house like this, my parents are home - and your dad will kill you."

"Shit, you're right," Mickey says. "Dad's gonna be piiiiiissed! Oh, Ian! Oh! Trade places with me! Please? Like in that...in that Macauly Culkin movie! Twins!"

"That does not exist. And I look nothing like you."

"You have a point. You're too short."

"I am not short!" Ian says.

Mickey's studying his nails. He coughs discreetly. "Prettyshort."

"You're a mean drunk."

"...And you almost just drove into the curb. Can you please just drive? We can go to my house and sneak in my window. Like ninjas," Mickey whispers.

"Boozy ninjas. Awesome."

Ian parks a few houses down from the Milkovich residence, just in case. He demands the keys to Mickey's house because it will be impossible for them to climb into a second story window. They'll just have to be very, very quiet.

Mickey isn't so drunk that he's falling over or anything, but through Ian's own buzzed state he can tell Mickey is more careless than usual. He doesn't want either of them to get caught, so he bodily walks Mickey through the door, closing it with the softest click possible. He waits and listens. Nothing happens, so he walks them to the staircase.

Ian feels Mickey slip from his hold and hears him fall with a thump once they're at the top of the stairs. He winces, hoping Burt is a heavy sleeper.

This has not been Ian's best night.

ooo

Mickey refuses to get off the floor. The state of his drunkenness is bordering on ridiculous. It takes some effort, but Ian finally gets Mickey to stand up. Mickey leans on him and giggles against his neck, sending little tickling shivers along Ian's skin. He is relieved to finally get to Mickey's bedroom and dump Mickey on the bed.

"Ian, Ian, let's sing, Ian. Let's sing...please?" Mickey asks, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Uhh..." Ian rubs his forehead a minute. "I think it's like three am. And your dad, remember?"

"That man could sleep through the apocalypse," Mickey says, waving a hand in dismissal.

"M'kinda tired..."

Mickey gasps. "No, Ian. No. I want to do a mash-up! Of Umbrella and...that Beyonce song. It's here..." He stumbles over to his iPod dock, flipping through songs.

Suddenly music sounds from the speakers. It's certainly not Rihanna or Beyonce.

"This isn't it," Mickey says, confused; then a second later, "I love this song!"

He grabs his brush and holds it like a microphone, crawling onto the bed, crossing it to get to the side Ian's nearest. Ian doesn't move, afraid if he sits down he'll fall asleep and then a drunken Mickey will beat him with the brush to wake him up.

A female voice starts to sing, slow and sultry, and Mickey sings over her, sounding much the same.

"Swingin' in the back yard

Pull up in your fast car

Whistlin' my name..."

Mickey's free hand traces an invisible pattern in the air, eyes closed, face tilted to the side as he sings. When Mickey's eyes opens, they find Ian and he crooks a finger. Ian smiles a little, feeling dizzy, and comes as close as he can, legs pressed against the edge of the mattress. Mickey smiles slowly in return, but then he's pulling at his shirt, stretching it, revealing a glimpse of collarbone before he falls back against the pillows on his bed. He looks back to Ian, reaching for Ian's shirt as he sings to him, he fists a hand in Ian's shirt and pulls him closer. Ian doesn't move away, he can't. He feels stuck, sweat prickling on the back of his neck, heart pounding loud in his chest.

"It's you

It's you

It's all for you

Everything I do

Tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you"

Mickey is staring at Ian, still holding tight to his shirt. Ian feels like he can't breathe. Wonders if this is some kind of alcohol-induced hallucination. Mickey tilts his head, singing about 'bad girls,' a small smile creeping at the corners of his mouth.

Ian stares at his mouth, it's so pink...

Mickey turns away and Ian lets out the breath he's been holding. Mickey lays back on the bed, closing his eyes. Ian doesn't know what's happening, nothing makes sense, the things he's feeling. Maybe his drink was drugged, maybe…

Mickey sits back up, kneeling on the bed. He reaches out, holding Ian's forearm with his free hand. Ian unconsciously leans in toward him. Mickey lays his cheek against Ian's chest, trying to look up at him as he sings. Mickey slowly turns until the back of his head and shoulders are pressed up against Ian's chest, still holding onto Ian's arm, bringing it around to hold him.

Oh god, what. He feels...

He's hard.

It repeats in his head, I'm hard, I'm hard, until he doesn't know what Mickey is singing anymore. His fingers fist Mickey's shirt, pulling him flush against his chest. He wants to touch Mickey so badly, to...

Mickey arches his back, looking up at Ian as he sings, face flushed and hair matted down, still a little sweaty, messy, fuck. Still holding Ian's arm, Mickey tries to drag him onto the bed, laying back. He can't let Mickey, then Mickey will know. There's a lull in singing and Mickey lays on the bed, stretching languidly. Ian tries to pull himself together, shifting on his feet. Maybe he should leave...he's just so dizzy...

"It's you, it's you, it's all for you"

Mickey starts singing again, eyes half open and on Ian.

Mickey reaches forward and slides his hand up Ian's shirt, touching his stomach, palm skating along Ian's skin. Ian shivers and makes a small sound, but Mickey doesn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in the traces a line down Ian's stomach with his finger, hand dipping lower, fingers curling around the waistband of Ian's jeans.

"Mickey..." Ian pushes his hand away, but Mickey just curls his hand around Ian's and holds it tight, tugging him insistently onto the bed.

"It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world is built for two

Only worth living

If somebody is loving you

Maybe now you do

Maybe now you do

Now you do..."

Mickey gazes at Ian as the song dies away, and Ian, propped up on his arms, half draped over Mickey, can't move. He can't breathe. His heart is pounding like crazy and he is still kind of hard, and-

Piano and drums.

Ian blinks.

"Trouble, he will find you no matter where you go, oh oh

No matter if you're fast, no matter if you're slow, oh oh"

Mickey giggles and hugs his brush. Like nothing at all had just happened. "Your turn," he says, shoving the brush at Ian.

"I'm...too tired. I'm just gonna go turn that off," Ian says, sliding off the bed and getting unsteadily to his feet. He shuffles over to the iPod, and after a few fumbled attempts, turns it off.

His hands are shaking. This isn't happening, Mickey is just drunk. He is drunk, too, that's all. Just lonely and drunk, and horny. Right? Teenagers have a lot of hormones, it's a fact.

Decided, Ian turns back to the bed to find Mickey sound asleep, snoring lightly.

Okay, he'll just sleep on the bed, too. No big deal. He can't sneak into his house, he'd wake up the dogs, his bedroom is on the second floor and he's sure all the windows are locked.

First, turn off the light.

Second, take off the shoes.

Third, sleep.

Slowly, carefully, Ian sits on the bed, scoots up until he'd finds himself a spot large enough to sleep. Mickey is kind of taking up a lot of room, but Ian doesn't have the heart to wake him and ask him to scoot over. He curls into a comfortable position and closes his eyes, but the room doesn't stop spinning very much.

ooo

Ian doesn't sleep well that night. This is probably in part because Mickey won't be still. He keeps moving from side to side, letting out these tiny groans like he's in the middle of a hundred bad dreams. Occasional contact, when Mickey throws an arm around him or shifts his body up against Ian's, and all those little sounds - Ian is torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to touch him.

This is not good.

Ian's sleep is just as fitful at Mickey's, drifting in and out of consciousness, thinking too hard to think of nothing at all


	9. Chapter 9

Ian wakes up to Mickey trying to climb over him. "What-"

"M'gonna puke," Mickey croaks, finally scaling Ian's body and half falling into the bathroom in his haste. "Oh god..."

Ian winces in sympathy at the sound of retching coming from the other room. He pulls himself out of bed and finds Mickey kneeling over the toilet, looking paler than usual.

"I'm never drinking again," Mickey moans.

Ian sits down next to him, facing the wall instead of the toilet, and gently rubs his back. "You'll feel better once you get it all out."

Mickey just groans, and Ian's eyes squeeze closed at the sound of more vomiting. Ian stands up and scans the room until he finds a cup. Mickey probably uses it to gargle, so he rinses it out and fills it with fresh water.

"Here, wash your mouth out," Ian says, putting the cup between Mickey's hands.

"Thank you," Mickey replies, doing as instructed.

Once Mickey has passed through the worst of it, Ian finds him some aspirin. He makes the room as hangover-proof as possible, drawing the curtains closed, and helps Mickey back into bed. He covers Mickey's forehead with a cool, damp washcloth, sitting close in case Mickey needs anything. Mickey reaches up and wraps his fingers around Ian's wrist, slipping his hand into Ian's. Ian's heart skips a beat.

"You're like a mom," Mickey says with a faint smile, something he must think looks teasing.

Ian returns the smile. "I could always go get your dad."

Mickey groans. "Please, no. He'd kick my ass," he says, letting go. Ian can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed.

"It's okay. I won't tell."

Mickey's quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry, Ian."

"Why?" Ian asks, startled.

"For calling you like that last night. Making you deal with me. You didn't have to."

"Mickey-"

"I hope I didn't disturb your dance." Mickey finally looks at him. Really looks. "Oh god, you're still in your dress shirt and pants. And they're _wrinkled_." He looks mildly horrified. Leave it to Mickey to worry about _clothes_ at a time like this.

Ian cracks a smile. "The dance was over, it was no problem. What are friends for, right?" Mickey smiles, and Ian can't resist. His knuckles brush against Mickey's cheek, fingers against his temple under the pretense of adjusting the washcloth. "Sleep, okay? It's still early."

"'Kay," Mickey says, closing his eyes. Ian stays where he is and watches for a few minutes.

It's 8:05am and either his parents aren't up or they just haven't noticed Ian's empty bedroom, because when he checks his phone it has no new messages. He texts his mom to let her know he and some friends are going to IHop, and hopes a text message instead of a note doesn't seem too suspicious.

He goes to Mickey's closet because he can't spend the day in his suit. Mickey has his clothing arranged by color, and Ian can't help a tiny smile. Mickey takes such care, loves these clothes he won't even let himself wear so much. As Ian's looking through the blue shirts, it hits him.

It wasn't the drinking. He likes Mickey.

 _Really_ likes him.

And not just now, either. Not with how secretly happy he'd been when Mickey called him from the club. Mickey hadn't called Karofsky or Azimio or whoever, Mickey had called _him_. Not with the thrill he gets singing to Mickey. Singing _with_ him. Not with the way he lights up every time Mickey texts him out of the blue. Or how pleased he is when Mickey borrows his clothes. Or the way Mickey's eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way he leans close when they're studying, the way he-

 _Not just friends_.

Ian has always liked Mickey. Maybe his brain just wouldn't let himself realize it, wouldn't make the connection because he didn't think such a connection was even a possibility, but he likes Mickey. He has for a long time.

Ian rests his forehead against the clothing rail, closing his eyes. Realization wants to feel like a relief, but at the moment he's too scared to let it in. He's out of his depth, confused. This changes him. This means he's...gay. Or bisexual. Or _something_ , something not straight. And here he is, always telling Mickey to have courage, to not hide, to be himself for the world to see. And right now Ian would like nothing more than to hide away, even from himself.

It's not like he thinks there's anything wrong with being gay. He's never had a problem with the idea, he's just never applied it to himself. It's never been _personal_. What will be different about him? Should he tell someone? Should he tell everyone?

Oh wow. He can't stop thinking it: _oh wow_.

He doesn't just like Mickey...he's _gay_.

It explains so much. It feels like all the little cogs and gears of his existence all finally fit together, wound up and ready to go. He has to tell someone. He should tell Mickey. Mickey will know what to do.

But then, no.

Ian thinks about Mickey and the bullying and his dear clothes all hidden away, kept in a safe place waiting for another life.

No, then.

Although, they could be a support. They could help each other. Except, what if Mickey figures out Ian likes him? Ian is one hundred percent sure he isn't ready for that. Because what if Mickey doesn't like him back? Their friendship is so tempestuous, it's all still so new. Besides, Mickey likes handsome jocks like Finn and Puck, not short, preppy guys like him. Right?

It's too much to take in all at once, and Ian forces himself to end that train of thought. He picks clothes that look like they'll fit him and slips as quietly as he can into the bathroom. He takes a nice, hot shower, but it does little to relax him. Mickey's clothes fit, not as well as they fit Mickey, of course, but they'll do. He towel dries his hair and leaves it ungelled, taking a deep breath before returning to the bedroom.

Mickey is snoring softly. Ian takes the washcloth from his forehead and watches him for a minute, hoping Mickey will feel better when he wakes. He doesn't know how long Mickey will sleep, but can't sit here staring the entire morning or he'll go out of his mind. He hates to invade the Milkovich's kitchen without permission, but he just can't stay in this bedroom.

Ian slips downstairs as quietly as possible. He contemplates making breakfast for everyone, wonders if it would be welcome or just intrusive. He's rooting around the fridge to see what they have, when a voice behind him says, "Ian?"

Ian jumps a mile. "Oh my god, Mr. Milkovich- Burt. _Jesus_ , you- I mean. You startled me." He puts his palm to his chest and waits for his heart rate to slow down.

"M'a bit confused myself," Burt says, thankfully in amusement and not annoyance. "I didn't know you were here."

"Some of us went out after the dance last night, so I invited Mickey. It was late, so afterwards he said I could just crash here. I hope you don't mind," Ian plows on. "You were asleep so we didn't want to wake you. I was going to make breakfast..."

Burt chuckles. Probably at how stupid Ian's acting; man, he really sucks at lying. "It's fine, of course you're welcome here."

"Thanks," Ian says, smiling uncertainly. "Um, so, I was going to make scrambled eggs and pancakes, if you like that?"

"Sure, I'll help," Burt says. "We got some turkey bacon or some healthy alternative in there, too."

Ian and Burt start getting things together, working quietly and companionably. Ian starts to feel more comfortable, coming down from his earlier revelation. It's kind of crazy how different Burt is from his own father. Ian isn't sure his father knows how to make anything more complicated than a sandwich, nor would he spend time with Ian like this. When his father isn't working, he's out in the garage with his old cars, fixing them up so they can sit there looking pretty. Every once in a while he takes them out, but never with Ian. It seems to be his only hobby.

Ian's so lost in thought that Burt startles him again when he speaks up.

"So, how was the dance?" Burt asks.

Last night feels like another universe, and the dance, in particular, as if it were months ago. "Um, it was okay. I guess."

"Didja go with somebody?"

"Yeah. Her name is Rachel Berry. She's really nice, we're friends, but. I think she wants to like...you know. Go out." Ian flips a pancake in the pan and blushes from embarrassment at how personal he's being with his friend's dad.

Burt gives him a curious look. "You don't wanna?"

"I like her, it's just..." And here's the first lie. The first of how many, and for how long? Ian stares at the pancakes a moment. "I guess I just don't like her like that."

"Just 'cause she's a girl doesn't mean you're obligated," Burt says, like he's got experience, and huffs a quiet laugh.

"Yeah," Ian agrees, forcing a smile. That statement is true on so many levels. Ian's eyes burn and he blinks them a few times, but it's no good. Soon they're watering over. He quickly digs the heel of his hand against them, trying to be discreet.

"Ian?" Burt sounds surprised. "You okay?"

"I- yeah. The heat from the stove..." But it's no good, the tears keep coming. He is so _stupid_...

"Hey, hey," Burt says in such a gentle voice it just makes Ian cry harder. "Come on, come on, let's go sit down."

"But the food..."

"It'll hold," Burt says, turning off the burner and guiding Ian by his shoulder into the dining room. He sits Ian down and settles into a chair across from him, not saying anything at first. "You wanna talk about it?"

Ian sniffs and wipes his face with a napkin Burt hands him. He smiles out of nervousness. "I'm embarrassed."

"Don't be. I'm a dad, this is our job," Burt says, smiling warmly.

"Not my dad," Ian says, and realizes too late that he said that out loud. "I mean, I don't know. I'm." He struggles to find the words, and can't. "Do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"As long as you aren't in some kinda danger," Burt says. He gives Ian a contemplative look. "Did you get this Rachel girl pregnant?"

Ian knows Burt must have been trying to help by figuring out what was up so Ian wouldn't have to say it, but it's so far off the mark he can't help but laugh. "Oh no, oh my god, I've never even- er..."

"Right," Burt says, looking like he's maybe trying not to laugh, too.

Ian takes a deep breath, but he can't quite meet Burt's eyes. "Okay. I think...I'm pretty sure. I don't like girls at all." His voice lowers, hands digging into the knees of Mickey's jeans. "I think I'm gay."

Burt doesn't say anything at first, and when Ian chances to look up at him he can't read his expression. "Hm," he says at last. "You tell Mickey?"

"Mickey? No. You're the only one. It's kind of- I only just realized it. Like. Yesterday. Rachel kissed me and it was just...nothing. And there's this boy," Ian starts to say, but embarrassment tightens his throat and the words won't come out.

Burt nods. "Well, Ian, I'm gonna tell you right now, it will be okay," he says, looking Ian right in the eyes. "It probably won't be easy, but you're still the same boy, and there's nothing wrong with you. Nothing."

Ian nods, tearing up again. Even though he knew this, he needed to hear someone say it. He needed the assurance, the acceptance.

"And if somebody's got a problem, or somebody messes with you, you can come here," Burt continues. "You understand? No matter what, this is a safe place for you. Okay?"

Ian can only nod again, his throat too tight and eyes too blurry for anything else. He feels so thankful, and loved, and scared.

"You should tell your folks," he adds. "Y'know, they might just surprise you."

Ian wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "I don't want to be a disappointment," he all but whispers.

"You're not," Burt says firmly. "And don't ever let anybody tell you that. You're a good kid, Ian. I've never seen Mickey this happy since you've been coming around."

"Really?" Ian asks, looking up.

"Really. I know my son. He's always been kind of a loner and an introvert. He's had some friends over before, but to tell the truth they weren't anyone I was too impressed with."

Ian tries to imagine Karofsky or Azimio hanging out in the Milkovich house. All his mind can conjure up is _awkward_.

"He's different with you. You're a," Burt pauses a moment like he's trying to think of the right word, "positive influence."

This gets a smile out of Ian. He doesn't know if he's influencing Mickey, but it feels good to hear that he makes Mickey happy. He must, if Burt notices. "I'm glad we're friends," he says. "I hated leaving my old school."

Burt nods. "Y'know," he says, after a moment. "When you're comfortable, you can tell Mickey. He won't judge you." Ian must look uneasy at that, because he continues. "I know my son, he'll stick with you."

Ian nods a little, knowing he can trust Mickey. Of course he can, especially in this.

Burt stands, giving Ian's knee a pat. "You up for finishing breakfast, kid?"

"Yeah. I am," Ian says, smiles and means it. "Thanks, Burt."

"Sure, kid."

ooo

When breakfast is ready, Ian offers to go get Mickey.

"Why don't you take it up?" Burt says, throwing a bit of everything on a plate, "I gotta eat and run anyway, or my employees'll give me shit about bein' late."

The bedroom is still dim when Ian returns. Mickey's sleeping soundly, he looks so peaceful that Ian kind of hates to wake him. Still, he gently shakes a shoulder. "Mickey? Mickey, wake up…"

Mickey groans and doesn't move.

"Come on, I brought you breakfast. On a tray and everything, mon petit prince," Ian teases.

Mickey opens his eyes halfway. "I didn't impregnate you last night, did I?" Ian takes too long to reply and Mickey props himself up in alarm. "Oh god, I didn't do anything to you, did I?"

"Anything?" Ian echoes. "Oh. No, no, you didn't." He composes himself and smiles. "Just get up before your food gets cold."

Mickey doesn't look convinced, but sits up primly, back resting against his pillows. "Shall you join me?"

"I shall," Ian says, slipping into bed beside Mickey.

"This is good," Mickey says in the middle of eating. "You really made this?"

"Mmhm," Ian hums around a bite of pancake. "Me and your dad."

"Oh my god."

"What?"

"I think I'm supposed to be mortified. He _is_ my dad," Mickey says, eyebrow raised.

"I like him," Ian says.

Mickey rolls his eyes. "Please don't tell me he convinced you to come help in the shop."

"That didn't come up," Ian says, laughing a little. "I told him you came to the IHop with a bunch of us after the dance and I ended up crashing here, by the way. Since I was in your kitchen at eight in the morning in your clothes."

"You make it sound so scandalous," Mickey says.

"We _did_ sleep together."

"I hate you."

"You _always_ say that," Ian says. "But I know the truth."

Mickey is silent, chewing and blushing. Normally Ian would tease him about it, except that it's making _him_ blush. He stuffs his mouth with egg so he isn't expected to speak.

It's Mickey who finally says something. "I have no idea how we got back last night. I remember the club, mostly. And I think I sang to you. Which, embarrassing. Uh, sorry. If I like. Did anything inappropriate. It's not you," Mickey is quick to say. "When I drink, I get pretty loose. It's bad and I am suitably ashamed. I hope you can forgive me." He dares a sideways glance.

 _It's not you_. Somehow, it's all Ian hears. Sticks in his mind like a barbed hook.

Does he really expect Mickey to say it _is_ him, though?

"Of course," Ian says. "There's nothing to forgive. You danced with me, but that's about it." He looks down at his breakfast, pushing it around his plate with his fork. "You were, uh, making out with this guy..."

"I know. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable," Mickey says, and he sounds so sad that Ian looks over.

"You don't make me uncomfortable," Ian says with more ferocity than is appropriate. "I don't care that you're gay."

Mickey is looking at him, and Ian can't read his expression.

"That guy is too old, though. It's like...illegal," Ian says stupidly.

Mickey smiles. "It isn't like I have many options."

"That doesn't mean you have to settle for him!"

"And you don't have to settle for Rachel Berry," Mickey says, jabbing at his eggs and eating a bite.

"I'm not _settling_ for Rachel Berry," Ian protests.

Mickey turns to look at him. "Then why in the world would you date someone who wears butterfly knee socks? Why, Ian? Did you know she's the president of the Craft Club? They had a fundraiser for new glue guns! They hold surprise locker bedazzlings! Do you know how long it took me to get a giant blinged-out Hello Kitty portrait off my locker door? You can still see the outline of a bow to this day."

Ian frowns and tries to defend his friend, "I think she's sweet."

"Look," Mickey interjects with a sigh, "I just...get lonely, sometimes." He looks away, and Ian desperately wants to touch him, make him look back over. "You wouldn't understand."

Ian's fingers curl around Mickey's wrist before he even realizes his hand has moved. Mickey looks over, bewildered. "I just didn't want him to take advantage of you." _And I was jealous_.

"Ian..."

"You're my _best friend_ ," Ian says, tightening his grip.

Mickey doesn't say anything at first. "You're my best friend, too," he says, barely above a whisper.

Ian knows, but it doesn't stop his chest from aching to hear it from Mickey's mouth.

ooo

Like a cut that doesn't hurt until looked at, now that Ian realizes he likes Mickey he can _not_ stop thinking about him. It's like Attraction City, population: 1. Ian Gallagher.

He thought he'd liked girls before, but knows now that it was never real because nothing has ever felt like this. This all-consuming need to be around Mickey, the way his stomach flutters with every touch, the stupid, ridiculous daydreams his mind conjures up. The less ridiculous things his mind comes up with at night when he's alone in bed.

Ian's French grade is especially going to suffer, because during class Ian gets distracted staring at the back of Mickey's head (or better yet, when Mickey will turn a little to look at something and Ian can see his profile), and during their tutoring sessions Ian gets distracted because Mickey's sitting so close, speaking so prettily in French.

Unfortunately, Mickey starts to notice.

"Des fois, j'aime porter des sous-vêtements pour femme."

Ian repeats the phrase on autopilot, eliciting a huff of frustration and a pen smacked against the table.

"Ian, are you even paying attention?"

"Huh?" Ian blinks. "...Yes!"

"Really? What did I just say?" Mickey asks, looking pissy.

"Um." Ian thinks back, but mostly all he remembers about the past twenty minutes is Mickey's mouth and the very soft dusting of freckles along his nose. They're so faint he wonders if Mickey even realizes they're there.

"Ian."

"I don't know!" Ian gives up. "Something about women?"

Mickey just shakes his head and closes his book. "Don't blame me when you fail the test."

"What? I'm not-"

"Ian, for the past week you've been in your own world," Mickey says, cutting him off. "What's going on? Is this, like...is it Rachel?"

" _Rachel_?"

"Your _girlfriend_?," Mickey supplies, bite in his voice.

Rachel. She's kind of decided they're dating. She has him carry her books between classes, she sits next to him at lunch and they hold hands, and god, he hasn't done a thing to discourage her, not really. He just…he doesn't want to hurt her. He wants to keep this secret just a little while longer.

"No, it's not her. I like someone else," he blurts out, regretting it not two seconds later.

" _What_? Then why," Mickey says, confused, before closing his mouth tight. When Ian doesn't immediately respond, he continues. "What the hell, Ian. She looks at you like you're the living embodiment of Adonis. Who else is there?"

 _You_. The word is there in his mind, on the tip of his tongue. All he has to do is say it. One little word, three letters, one syllable.

"Finn," Ian says. It just comes out and he doesn't know why, but now Mickey will know, that he's gay, that—

But Mickey looks furious, and stands, slamming his books in a pile to leave. "You know what, screw you, Ian."

"What? I—"

"-You're going to make fun of me for being gay, _and_ you're going to use the subject of my worst humiliation to do it? You can take this friendship and _shove it_ —"

"No, Mickey," Ian says, standing, grabbing at Mickey's wrist because he's trying to leave. "What humiliation? I meant…I meant Rachel likes Finn. Rachel's still in love with Finn. I think she's just trying to distract herself with me, and—"

"You said _you_ like someone."

"I guess I just didn't want to have to tell you Rachel's personal business," Ian lies, feeling horrible, feeling a pit growing in his stomach, bigger and bigger. "I know how you can be about her."

Mickey bristles and shakes Ian's hand off. "You're not a very good liar, Ian."

Ian's face feels like Mickey just took a match to it, his stomach roiling.

Mickey's voice, when it comes, is cold. "I was under the impression you trusted me. I think I was wrong."

Ian may very well throw up from the way Mickey is looking at him. "No—"

"Then you should break up with Rachel." Mickey slings his backpack over his shoulder. "You should be honest with _someone_."

 _It's you. It's you, it's you, it's you._ It pounds at his head, fills his mouth, won't come out. He _can't_.

"Mickey…"

But Mickey is already out the door.

ooo

"Rachel…"

They're sitting together in the choir room before anyone's due to show up. He thinks this is probably not a good place to do this, but Mickey was right. He's being a _terrible_ friend by stringing Rachel along, letting her believe something that is nothing but a lie for him to hide behind. He needs to do this now before it goes any further, and if he doesn't get one burden off his shoulders he's going to collapse from all of them.

"Yes, Ian?" Rachel is staring up at him with such large, earnest eyes, all attention on him. God, he doesn't want to do this, would give anything not to have to hurt another person with his carelessness.

He swallows. "I can't be your boyfriend."

Rachel's expression doesn't change. "Why not?"

 _Here goes_. Ian takes a breath, lets it out, but only feels dizzier for it. "I'm gay," he says, wondering why his mouth chooses so well to work now, but won't around Mickey.

Rachel does not look surprised, this is the first thing Ian realizes. She looks downcast, but there's no sign of shock in her expression. "Oh, Ian," she says, sadly. "I thought so."

Ian's eyes go wide. " _What_?"

"Well, I couldn't be _sure_ , but," Rachel says, needlessly smoothing down her skirt. "I thought so from the moment we met. You insisted otherwise, and you seemed as though you may have been interested in me, so I suppose I'd just _hoped_ …"

"It's—you can _tell_? I only just figured it out!" Ian sputters, at a loss.

"I have two gay dads, Ian. I'm kind of an expert," Rachel says.

"Jesus…"

Rachel takes his hand, gives it a comforting squeeze. "It's okay, Ian. It is. You don't have anything to be ashamed of."

Ian's face warms, and he just feels so _stupid_. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. I didn't want to hurt you, I do care about you. Please believe me, I just…I didn't have the courage."

Rachel draws him in and hugs him close, holds him. He feels guilty, he should be the one holding her. She's stronger than he is, and so much sweeter, too. "You'll be a very good boyfriend to someone, someday," she eventually says.

They hold each other until the others start to trickle in. Ian catches Finn looking their way with something like disappointment or disapproval on his face before he sits next to Quinn.

Rachel's too good for Finn _and_ him.

"Alright!" Mr. Schue breaks into their chatter. "Let's talk about unrequited love!"

The entire glee club groans.

ooo

Ian leaves Mickey a voicemail.

"I'm sorry, Mickey. I hope you'll give me a chance to explain."

He ends the message with a mash-up of Sweet And Tender Hooligan by The Smiths and So Sorry by Feist, playing the piano in accompaniment, until the beep cuts him off.

He means it in a funny way.

He means it in a serious way, too.

ooo

Rachel asked if he'd told anyone else, and Ian admitted not really, only a few people (In reality, still only Burt). He may have even hinted that it was okay to tell and that he wanted to be open. Mickey wants him to be honest, so he will be honest in every way possible. He doesn't want to hide, but he doesn't want to make some big announcement, either. So when Ian joins the New Directions' table at lunch the next day he isn't entirely surprised by the pats on the back, the supportive smiles and gentle, teasing jibes. He's glad he wasn't wrong about them having his back, and relief floods through him, makes his eyes burn just a little. This is by far one of the scariest things he's ever done.

Mercedes, Tina, and Rachel are debating which member of the club Ian would be hottest with ("Mike; those abs, Ian's arms, can you just imagine?" "Finn, obviously! The height difference would be so romantic") when Santana saunters over, a smirk on her face, her Cheerios skirt seemingly extra short.

"Hey there, Hottie McHobbit," Santana all but purrs, running her fingers through Ian's hair, ruining the look he had carefully cultivated with so much gel. She drapes herself across his lap, arms winding around his neck. "A little birdie told me you're _confused_."

Ian gapes.

"I thought I told you not to tell her," Rachel hisses at Mercedes.

"I didn't!" Mercedes insists.

"Then how?" Rachel asks.

They both look at Brittany, who's smiling widely, a plastic spoon between her lips as she watches Santana. They groan.

"Um," Ian says.

"I'd just like to offer you my services," Santana says, close to Ian's ear. "So you won't be so _confused_ anymore."

"I wasn't even aware you liked me, Santana," Ian says helplessly.

" _Please_. What does _like_ have to do with anything?" she asks, running her hand up his arm. "Sure, my abuelo has a sharper sense of style, you've carved your hair into a helmet, and you're kind of a loser, but I can work with it."

"Thanks. I think." Ian moves her hand away. "As much as I appreciate your offer, I'm going to have to decline," he says with absolute sincerity. Even if Santana isn't the nicest person, and even if her motives are truly dubious, it never feels good to be rejected. "I'm gay."

"You can't know if you've never been with a girl," Santana says, mouth a heavy smirk. "And Berry doesn't count."

"Well…you've never had sex with a girl, and you know you aren't a lesbian, right?" Ian tries. That elicits a reaction Ian doesn't expect, an angry clenching of teeth and narrowed eyes.

"Whatever, BlGallagher," she snaps, sliding off his lap. "You just turned down the best offer you'll _ever_ get. Have fun singing about getting some action, 'cause it ain't neva gonna happen."

"Short guys have small dicks, anyway," she calls over her shoulder, making her way over to Mickey's table.

Mickey's table, where Mickey is sitting and looking right at him.

Ian doesn't know what sort of facial expression he's making, probably some form of mortification, but it doesn't matter because Mickey looks away.

There's no way Mickey could have heard anything from their table, he's too far away. Still, if Santana knows he's gay, their whole group will know, especially now that he rejected her. She's bound to ridicule him. Ian doesn't want Mickey to find out about him this way and feels a small flutter of panic at the thought. God, why hadn't he told Mickey sooner? Why hadn't he told Mickey _first_? It was that stupid fight, and Ian's own cowardice...

He pulls out his cell phone and texts Mickey. _Meet me outside?_

Ian watches as Mickey checks his phone and glances his way. His reply comes a moment later. _Where?_

Ian texts Mickey to meet him under the bleachers, and leaves the lunch room, food untouched.

ooo

Mickey shows up about five minutes after Ian, absently twirling a half empty bottle of lemonade. "Santana would kill to take your v-card," he greets. "She loves virgins."

It isn't exactly the hello Ian is expecting, and it takes him a moment to reply. "How do you know I'm a virgin?"

Mickey's expression speaks for itself: _bitch, please_.

"Whatever," Ian says. "So are you."

Mickey looks smug and leans back against one of the bleacher poles. Ian's mouth parts and jealousy burns a flare through his chest.

"Seriously?"

Mickey just smiles, but eventually rolls his eyes. "Yeah, obviously I am."

Ian's heartbeat slows to normal. He has to remind himself that that doesn't matter, that wouldn't matter, he just- ugh, what is _wrong_ with him? Liking someone is the worst.

"So. Anyway." Ian's words are coming out clipped, awkward. "Are we okay?"

"That song was awfully sweet," Mickey teases. Ian is trying very hard not to let how pleased he is to hear that show, even if Mickey is being sarcastic. "Yeah, we're okay. I mean, really, it should be me apologizing. I overreacted. You aren't obligated to tell me everything."

"You know I wasn't making fun of you, right?" Ian asks, keeping his voice soft.

"I don't understand why you said that," Mickey replies, playing with the cap of his bottle and looking away from Ian. "About Finn."

"I was trying to tell you…I wanted to..."

Mickey waits, watching Ian.

Ian takes a deep breath. If he just doesn't _overthink it_... "I think I'm gay," he blurts out.

Mickey drops his lemonade bottle. " _Excuse me_?"

"I've never wanted to have sex with a girl," Ian tries to explain, panicking, heart lodged painfully in his throat.

"That doesn't mean you're _gay_ , that just means all the girls in Ohio are _ugly_."

"But there's this boy—"

Mickey looks so much paler than normal, which, to be honest, is a feat onto itself. "Oh god," he's saying. "You were serious about Finn. You were, weren't you? Oh my god, Ian, no. No, let me just break it to you now, Finn Hudson is straight. Painfully, decidedly straight. The straightest football player in all of McKinley."

"How do you know?" Ian asks, because there's definitely something Mickey isn't saying.

Mickey slumps down, crouching on the ground with his back pressed to one of the old couches that reside under the bleachers. "Because," he says, bitterness evident in just this one word, "once upon a time, I was in love with him."

Ian doesn't hide his surprise, crouching down next to Mickey.

"It was eighth grade. We'd gone to different Elementary schools, but went to the same Jr. High. Back then I was…different. A little shy. Obviously I wasn't like I am now." Mickey rubs the back of his neck and gives up, sitting with a soft _fwump_. Ian follows, their shoulders lightly bumping. "And he was just…god, you know. Tall, cute, _a football player_. He was so dopey, but in a charming way. I tried to get to know him, but he was friends with all the jocks and I was _me_. I was shorter back then, slightly chubby, as pale as ever, and of course I sounded like a girl. He and his friends liked to throw me in the dumpsters and throw my backpack into trees. Because, you probably won't believe me, but Finn was different back then, too. And I was a joke. But still, I had a stupid crush on him. I even joined the football team to try and get his attention."

"You were on the football team?" Ian doesn't mean to interrupt, but he can't picture it.

"For maybe a month, I was the kicker. It didn't last," Mickey says, glancing over. "Mostly because I tried to tell Finn I liked him. A few times, actually. He's a little dense, and I was scared. In the end I'm not even sure if he realized, but…eventually I just stopped pretending, you know? He was straight and I didn't have a chance. I think I'd kind of been lying to myself, I was fourteen and so hopeful. And god, older teammates, other football players, they harassed me even after I'd joined the team. It didn't even matter that I was one of them. They'd shove me into things, and Finn would be _right there,_ and he did nothing."

Ian takes one of Mickey's hands and holds it between his in a firm grip. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. He's an idiot. He doesn't deserve you, anyway."

"I know," Mickey says, haughtily, but Ian can tell he's using it to hide, to distract from being so open. Mickey hates to appear vulnerable, Ian knows, and is grateful every time Mickey lets his guard down around him. "It's been awhile, I'm over him. I've come to terms with being alone. I can wait."

"You aren't, though," Ian says, giving Mickey's hand a gentle squeeze.

"I meant, like, in a relationship." Mickey rolls his eyes, but smiles a little.

"Oh, well." Ian knows he's blushing, and can't seem to figure out what to say to that.

Mickey laughs, a quiet, breathy sound. "You're so _earnest_. Where did you come from, Ian Gallagher? I mean, look, you're even holding my hand like it's normal."

Ian's face falls and he tries to jerk his hand away. "Fine—"

"No," Mickey says quickly, holding tight to his hand. "I didn't mean—I'm sorry. I'm an asshole. I just meant…" He shrugs and looks right at Ian. "I didn't know people like you existed."

"Maybe because you never give them the chance," Ian says.

"No, Ian," Mickey says, and he sounds so serious. "It's because there _is_ no one like you."

Ian wants to kiss Mickey, right now. Wants to very badly, but he can't seem to make himself move. His fingers tighten their hold on Mickey's hand and he opens his mouth to say something, but someone cuts him off.

"Well, look at you two lovebirds," comes a bored, female voice. "Move it, that's my couch."

Ian looks up, mortified, and Mickey's hand slips out of his.

"Whatever, Mack," Mickey says, making himself sound just as bored as the girl, "taking a break from the truck stop?"

Mickey stands up, so Ian stands up, too, trying to school his features into something neutral.

"It's no fun during the day," the girl, Mack, replies, lighting up a cigarette.

"Right, because then you actually have to see the beer bellies and receding hairlines," Mickey says, starting to walk away. The girl doesn't even reply, too distracted by smoking and staring at nothing, and Ian chances a worried look at Mickey. He doesn't care that they were caught for himself so much as for Mickey's sake.

"Are you okay?" he asks once they're out of earshot.

"Oh, yeah, it's fine," Mickey says, waving a dismissive hand. "Mack's a Skank. They're disenchanted loners. She won't gossip, she probably doesn't even know my name."

Mickey turns to Ian and leans up against the side of his truck. They seem to have wandered into the parking lot without Ian noticing. "So, Ian, I just made that all about myself. You were telling me some pretty big news, I'm sorry…"

Ian glances around, but school's still actually _happening_ so there is no one else in the parking lot. "Uh." He smiles shyly, looking down at his feet. "Yeah. Well. I pretty much said all that needs to be said."

"You're gay," Mickey says.

Ian looks back up and nods. "I'm gay."

Mickey squints. "You're sure? Like really sure?"

Ian laughs a little, because it's kind of ridiculous how sure he is. "Really sure. One hundred percent."

Mickey looks thoughtful for a long moment and reaches out, hands on Ian's sleeves to tug him close. He hugs Ian, and Ian instinctively hugs back, tucking his face against Mickey's neck.

"Mickey?"

Mickey pulls back with a smile, genuine and warm. "It's just nice…not being the only one anymore."

Ian returns the smile. "You'll have to teach me everything you know."

Mickey laughs and unlocks his truck. "Come on, let's skip and check out Barnes and Noble's international fashion magazine section. You have a lot of catching up to do."

ooo

"Your dad knows," Ian says, a spread of John Galliano's latest collection open on his lap.

Mickey looks up from his own issue of L'uomo Vogue, eyebrows raised. "What?"

"I figured it out after homecoming. Rachel kissed me and I didn't feel anything, and I couldn't figure out why I couldn't like her like that, and—"

"Oh, Ian, I can give you a hundred reasons."

Ian pulls a face. "Your dad helped me make breakfast, and I kind of broke down and told him."

Mickey carefully turns the page of his magazine, studying it as though it holds all the answers of the universe. "Oh?" he asks, like it's nothing. "And how did he react?"

"He was so nice, Mickey," Ian says, willing Mickey to look up. "He was so understanding, and said I was welcome over any time. That if I got into trouble I had a place at your house…he told me I should tell you. That you wouldn't judge me."

Mickey finally looks up, and there's a rawness there Ian hadn't expected. "It's different when it's your son."

"I don't think so, Mickey," Ian murmurs. "I think he would be okay. I think he'll love you no matter what—"

"Look, this is about you, not me," Mickey says firmly. "I'm glad he accepted you."

"I just think you'll feel better if you tell him…"

"Ian, drop it," Mickey says, smacking the magazine closed. "I'm not ready."

"Okay," Ian says gently, and reaches over to take Mickey's hand.

Mickey jerks his hand away. "Can you stop doing that? It's really gay."

Ian raises an eyebrow, and there's a small moment of silence before they both burst out laughing.


	10. Chapter 10

Word of Ian's orientation circulates around school.

Ian figures it out when he starts getting curious, disgusted, and what appear to be threatening, looks. He tries to ignore them, but it's difficult because once he knows it's happening he notices it constantly. Sometimes he'll hear _homo_ or _fag_ or _fairy_ as he passes, and he tries to ignore that, too.

What he _can't_ ignore is getting pushed into his locker, which is happening even more frequently lately. Ian has bruises on his back and arms, and his shoulder's been sore all week from a particularly hard shove into the brick wall outside of school. It's usually Karofsky. Sometimes it's a hockey player, but more often than not, it's Karofsky. Ever since that day in the locker room, Karofsky's been out for blood, and he's the only one in Mickey's group that doesn't seem to be held in check by whatever Mickey did or said to get them away from him.

Ian doesn't tell Mickey. He doesn't want Mickey to have to fight his battles, and knows Mickey has already put himself on the line trying to keep them off his back. What's he going to do? Tell Karofsky to lay off a guy that to his mind, Mickey isn't even friends with? And there's a small part of Ian, deep down, that knows the real reason is that it will hurt too much if Mickey chooses his reputation over Ian. He certainly doesn't want to force Mickey to come out, but he also hates the thought that Mickey would knowingly hang around with people who are hurting him. It's just better this way.

Ian is fumbling with his combination when he gets shoved, hard, and is taken so unaware that he falls to the floor. "Watch yourself, homo," says Karofsky, who Ian only places once he looks up and actually sees the hulking jock continue on his merry way down the hall.

"Fuck you," Ian says, but his voice sounds hollow to his own ears. He doesn't think Karofsky hears him, anyway.

He picks himself up and his hands are shaking a little as he takes his Biology and English books from his locker. It's starting to get to him. He's trying hard not to let it, but he's losing that battle. He slinks into Biology class, head down, making a point not to look at Mickey on his way in. He feels bizarrely ashamed.

He gets a text, of course.

 **Mickey:** What's wrong?

Ian bites his lip and texts back. _Nothing_.

ooo

Ian hates basketball day in Gym class. Mickey always manages to talk Bieste into using the exercise machines instead of playing, and someday Ian's going to learn Mickey's trick because he _sucks_ at this game.

The game is almost over and Ian isn't paying close enough attention, loses his footing when he jumps for the ball, and accidentally stumbles, falling right against Karofsky.

"Get off me, fag!" Karofsky shouts, shoving him to the floor. Most of the players look their way, and the game stops abruptly.

Everyone is looking at _him_ , snickering, laughing.

Someone mimes a blowjob and Ian snaps.

"That's not what you said last night!" he says loudly, getting to his feet. He tries to smile and knows it probably looks _deranged_ because he's so angry.

Karofsky stops. "What did you say?"

"I said, I thought you liked that blowjob I gave you last night?" Ian yells, wanting the whole gym to hear. If Karofsky's going to try and humiliate him, he's going to give it back.

"I—you fucking—"

Ian advances, curling his shaking hands into fists. "Maybe you wanna blow me this time? Huh? You wanna—"

There's a loud, sharp whistle from Bieste across the gymnasium. "Alright, break it up! What's goin' on over there!?"

There are murmured voices around him and Karofsky looks absolutely murderous.

"Nothing," Karofsky says, staring at Ian.

Ian stalks off for the locker room, ready to ignore anyone who tries to stop him.

No one does.

ooo

Ian doesn't see Karofsky for the rest of the day. He's getting ready to leave, and not a moment after he closes his locker door, Karofsky fists a hand in his hair and smashes his face into it.

Karofsky's voice, close to his ear, hisses, "If you ever pull that again, you're _dead_."

The hand in his hair lets go, and Ian is stunned. Pain blooms along his nose and forehead, sharp, sudden. He feels _wet_ dribbling from his nose and gingerly raises a hand to feel. His fingers come away sticky red, and Ian looks down the hallway at Karofsky's retreating back.

No.

 _No_.

Ian runs after him, grabs the back of Karofsky's jacket when he catches up just inside the boy's locker room. Karofsky's too big, and Ian's attempt to fling him, well, _somewhere_ , fails. Karofsky turns, eyes wide and accusing. He clearly hadn't expected Ian to come after him.

Ian uses Karofsky's surprise to his advantage and swings an arm back to deck him. "Fuck you!" he screams, and knows his voice sounds like a wounded animal, but doesn't care, doesn't care because he is _not_ going to be pushed around by this ignorant, posturing jerk. He clips Karofsky in the jaw, but it doesn't seem to do a whole lot, only seems to piss Karofsky off more.

"You're done for, Gallagher!" Karofsky yells, slamming him up against the lockers. Ian makes a soft _oomph_ sound, flails and struggles.

"You're nothing!" he yells back, kicking at Karofsky's legs.

"Fag!" Karofsky says, wrenching Ian's fists to his side. "You need to learn your place."

"So what! I'm gay and I'm better than you!" Ian screams, gasps, eyes and lungs burning. "You're just _jealous!"_

"Shut the fuck up—"

"I'm gay and you're just pathetic and scared and stupid!"

"Shut the fuck _up_ , Gallagher!" Karofsky yells, and clamps a hand over Ian's mouth.

Ian screams, the force of it hurting his throat, nostrils flared and sucking in oxygen. He can't move, not anything substantial, not with Karofsky's giant body pinning him to the lockers. He has one hand free, which he uses to try and dislodge Karofsky's hand, but it's no good. Karofsky's hand moves from his mouth and downward, fingers firm around his neck and jaw.

"Just _shut up_ ," Karofsky says again, words clipped.

"No," Ian croaks. "Let me—"

Karofsky kisses him.

Karofsky's mouth is on his, hard enough to almost hurt, hot and wet and terrifying. Ian can't move at first, all he can think is _what is happening? what is happening?_ And then he's shoving and punching and he almost thinks he's trapped, _and_ _what is Karofsky going to do next?_ until he's free, skidding across the locker room floor on his ass.

"What the hell, you sick, crazy—?" he says all in one breath, scrambling to get up. Karofsky moves to follow, looking angry and scared, and it's the fear he sees in Karofsky's eyes that's almost the worst.

" _I'm_ sick!? You're—"

" _Stay away from me!_ " Ian moves to the door, staring Karofsky down from across the room. "I'll tell everyone!"

"You tell _anyone_ and you're a dead man, Gallagher," Karofsky says, but Ian's already running into the hallway, stumbles and runs and runs.

He doesn't stop until he barrels through the girl's restroom door, tumbling into the room, making some mousy freshman shriek. "Sorry," he says, and locks himself in a stall. He manages two unsteady breaths before retching into the toilet. It's mostly dry heaving, whether from the fighting or nerves or both, he can't tell, but it's a good long while before his insides stop clenching and his hands stop shaking.

When he leaves the stall, the room is empty. He washes his mouth out in the sink, dunks his whole head under, sending pink rivulets streaming along the clean white porcelain. He has a small cut along his hairline and his nose still has blood caked underneath. His mind has gone blank. He's moving on automatic, pushing down on his emotions. He's reaching for the paper towel when he feels his pocket vibrate.

Three text messages from Mickey. They were supposed to meet after school.

Flexing his fingers, Ian fumbles with the tiny keyboard to reply.

 _be out in min_

He cleans himself up as best he can and slowly makes his way out to the parking lot, glancing around as he goes, but there's no one ( _Karofsky_ ) around. Mickey is waiting for him, leaning against his truck, and Ian can see the moment his expression goes from irritation to concern.

"Ian?"

Ian's gaze darts anywhere but Mickey. "Sorry, I—"

"What happened?" Mickey asks, searching his face, and god, how can he _tell_?

"It's nothing," Ian says, but he can hardly hear himself and his stupid, traitor eyes are burning. He grits his teeth, willing himself not to tear up, and pushes past Mickey to get into the truck. "Let's go."

"Ian, what happened?" Mickey repeats, his voice taking on a sharper tone.

"Nothing, Mickey! I'm fine!" Ian snaps, turning back around.

"Yes, I can see that," Mickey says dryly, and comes closer. Mickey reaches for his face. Ian feels the tips of his fingers touch his upper lip, near the cut on his forehead, and he gently bats Mickey's hand away. "Who did this to you?"

Ian doesn't answer, feeling humiliated.

"Ian…"

"I can take care of myself," he hisses, tipping his head up, eyes blinking rapidly.

"I know you can, but as your friend I'd like to know," Mickey says. And that's a low blow, right there. How can Ian refuse an answer in the face of friendship?

"Karofsky," Ian mumbles.

Mickey's nostrils flare and his lips thin into a grim line. "He punched you?"

"He…we fought," Ian says around the tight feeling in his throat.

"There's something else," Mickey finally says. "You won't even look at me." Mickey touches his face, it's so tender, and why is Mickey being so sweet? Mickey is hardly ever the one to touch, it's always Ian, so casually tactile, but not Mickey. Ian can't hold the tears in any longer, and they escape with a small shudder. "What is it?"

"He…he kissed me," Ian whispers, feeling sick to his stomach. He just can't get the way Karofsky looked at him out of his head. "He hit me and I followed him and I was trapped. He was so—"

But Mickey's not there anymore.

Mickey is running toward the school, and Ian's satchel falls from his hand. "Mickey!" he yells. He wipes furiously at his cheeks and runs after. He has to stop Mickey before…he doesn't know, he just has to.

Ian finally catches up with Mickey before he makes it to the front doors, grabbing his arm and nearly sending them both stumbling. "Mickey, stop!"

"No," Mickey snaps, pulling to get out of Ian's grasp. "No. I'll kill him."

"Mickey, please, it's not like he—"

"It's not like he _what_?" Mickey says, suddenly close. He looks _furious_. "It's not like he _assaulted_ you?"

"But. You're supposed to be on his side," Ian says helplessly, not wanting Mickey to end up in the same sort of position he's in.

"Screw his side!" Mickey throws his hands up, and Ian has never, ever seen him look so mad. "I hate them. I hate _him_. Don't you get it? _I only care about you_ ," Mickey says, like the words are ripped from his throat.

Ian just stands there, heart beating in his ears. He wonders if Mickey can hear it. He wonders if Mickey _knows_.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Ian whispers, because it's hard enough to speak at all, the way he's feeling.

"He can't get away with it," Mickey says, and stalks into the school. Ian follows him, trailing close behind.

"We can just tell Figgins," Ian says.

"Where is he?"

"The principal's office?"

" _Karofsky_ ," Mickey says.

"I…he was in the boy's locker room," Ian says, jogging a little to keep up with Mickey when he takes off in the direction of the gym.

The boy's locker room is empty. So is the gym and the bathroom and the hallways, save for a few stragglers and teachers. Mickey slams his hand against a locker, and Ian jumps.

"Maybe we should just tell Figgins," Ian says quietly once more. Mickey glares at the locker, and Ian isn't sure at first if he's going to answer at all.

"Yeah, okay," Mickey says, and heads that way.

Ian tells Figgins what happened in a hushed voice, not only out of nervousness, but because of Mickey. Even if Mickey already knows, Ian hadn't gotten specific, and with each new piece of information he looks more and more angry. By the end, when Ian confesses to Karofsky having kissed him, Mickey is fuming.

Figgins says he'll contact Karofsky's parents, and that he'll have to contact Ian's as well. He tells Ian to wait in the office lobby for one of his parents to arrive, and it takes everything in him not to break down. He just feels so humiliated, and to have to tell his _parents_? They don't even know he's gay.

Ian slumps down in a chair, and Mickey sits next to him. Ian glances over. "You don't have to stay," he murmurs.

Mickey gives him a _look_ , and takes Ian's hand.

"Mickey, please," Ian says, pulling his hand away.

"I don't care, Ian," Mickey says, and finds his hand, tugging it between them and holding on.

Ian looks away, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his free hand. They sit in silence for a while, Ian lost in his own thoughts, Mickey most likely in the middle of his own.

"This is my fault," Mickey eventually says.

" _How_?" Ian asks, astonished.

Mickey shakes his head, looking at the wall opposite them. "I feel responsible. What's the point of all this if I can't even keep them off your back?"

"I thought the point was to keep them off _your_ back," Ian says.

"That was before."

"Before?" Ian asks. Mickey's thumb swipes over his knuckles, back and forth.

"Before we became friends," Mickey says, turning his head to look at Ian. "You're the only real friend I've _ever_ had. I was so dumb to almost throw this away for them."

Warmth fills Ian and makes him smile. He can hardly breathe for how badly he wants to kiss Mickey. He wants to say I _like_ you, wants to touch him, to…he doesn't know. He just wants Mickey.

Ian opens his mouth to say something, when the door opens and in walks his father. His mouth closes immediately and he smoothly withdraws his hand from Mickey's. If he was a dog he's sure his ears would flatten.

"Ian," his father says, perpetually stern. He's in a suit and tie, having likely come from work. Ian interrupted his father at work, which is never a good thing.

"Dad…"

"You got into a _fight_?" his father asks, looking at him as though he's a stranger.

Ian shrinks back into his seat a little, and Mickey must sense his current inability to reply because he speaks up. "The other guy hit him first, sir."

His father frowns at Mickey, and Ian fights the impulse to throw himself in front of Mickey to spare him such a look. "And you are?" his father's asking.

"Mickey Milkovich, sir," Mickey says, the epitome of cool. "I'm a friend of Ian's."

Ian starts to say something, when Figgins' office door opens. Figgins quickly scans the room and plasters a smile on his face. "Hello, I'm Principal Figgins," he says, moving forward and extending a hand. "Mr. Gallagher, I presume?" Ian's father shakes his hand with an affirmation, and Figgins ushers them into the office.

Mickey is excluded from the meeting, and Ian gives him one last, fleeting look before the door closes.

"Now, Mr. Gallagher," Figgins starts as they sit, "Ian here has made some accusations which I have taken very seriously. He told me one of his classmates was harassing him, verbally and physically, and…" There's a pause where Ian can tell Figgins is trying very hard to come up with the best way to say it. Ian wants to save him the trouble, but he already feels so humiliated he just can't. "The other student…kissed him. Now, we here at McKinley—"

"He did _what_?" Ian's father interjects, looking mildly horrified.

Ian's father is looking at him now, like it's his fault, and he balks. "Dad, please…" Please what, he doesn't know.

"Mr. Gallagher, I have contacted the other boy's parents and he will be dealt with according to policy. Now—"

"Some _boy_ tried to _force_ himself on you?" Ian's father asks, clearly disgusted.

Ian's voice comes out tinier than he intends, "Dad, it's-"

"Is that what happened, Ian?" Ian's father demands.

Ian doesn't know what to say, because it _is_ what happened, technically, just… "Yes."

"That is sexual assault, and we will be pressing charges," Ian's father says, looking back to Figgins. "What is the other boy's name?"

"No, dad, Jesus, he's just a bully, I don't want to have to- to go to _court_ or s—"

"Quiet, young man," Ian's father snaps, and Ian automatically shuts up. "Go wait outside, I need to talk to Mr. Figgins without you cutting in." When Ian doesn't immediately get up, his father glares. " _Now_."

"Real nice of you to take such a close freaking interest in me now, _dad_ ," Ian explodes, getting up and slamming the door behind him.

Ian wants to take it back, all of it. It was a bad idea, telling on Karofsky. Ian should have just dealt with it himself - _does not let himself think of the look in Karofsky's eyes, his thick fingers around his neck, the taste of his mouth_ – he should have just tried to forget about it.

He stalks out of the office, down the hall, walking by memory because he certainly can't see anything right now, everything is blurry and he doesn't know when he started running, but he's out of the school and fuck this, fuck Karofsky, fuck his dad, fuck—

"Stop!"

He thinks the yelling may have been going on a ways back, but it catches up with him now. _Mickey_ catches up with him, Ian knows because Mickey stops him with his whole body, like he's a barrier that Ian will heed.

He does.

Mickey smells familiar and he's warm and he's _everything_.

"Ian, Ian," Mickey murmurs, holding him. There are sobs and they're coming from him, making his whole body tremble. He wants to stop but he can't.

"He's going to _know_ ," Ian says into Mickey's shoulder, clinging to him. "God, Mickey, he's going to know about me now. He's going to hate me. He's not like your dad, he's not-"

"I know," Mickey says softly. "I could hear from outside the door."

"God," Ian says weakly.

The tears stop, but he still feels borderline hysterical. He pulls back from Mickey's embrace with a shudder, everything going cold. "I want to leave," he says.

"But, your dad," Mickey starts to say, looks at Ian and just nods. "Where?"

"Anywhere," Ian says.

Mickey takes Ian's hand like a child and leads him to his truck. Ian moves on instinct, even remembers to buckle as the truck pulls out of the parking lot.

The radio plays quietly while suburbs taper off into farmland. Crops and an occasional cow or two zip past the window, but Ian hardly notices. His mind is fighting with itself between thinking about what happened, and not. He's on edge. School and home have now become uncertain variables. He doesn't know what to expect from his parents, what to expect from Karofsky and the rest. Nowhere feels safe. Nothing feels right.

"That was my first kiss with a boy," Ian mumbles, staring past his reflection at a seemingly endless corn field.

"I didn't know you held such notions of romance," Mickey says after such a long moment, Ian wasn't sure he was going to say anything at all. His voice is quiet, lilted in a way that's trying not to sound so morose.

"Of not wanting someone who hates me to kiss me? Imagine that," Ian says, smiling a little.

Mickey huffs. "I can't imagine why you didn't reciprocate, Ian. That Karofsky, he's quite a catch. So nice, so mannerly."

Ian cracks a smile. "Guess I'm just shy."

"I spent so much time around him and I never would have thought. Never," Mickey says, the teasing in his voice gone.

"You know what this means, right?" Ian asks.

"Mm?"

"All the bullies at McKinley are just closeted."

Mickey doesn't reply, probably less than thrilled to be likened to Karofsky. Ian doesn't care at this moment, just stares out the window.

After an hour and a half of aimless driving that feels more like five or ten, Ian starts to recognize the roads they're on. It isn't long before they're in his neighborhood. He knew this would happen, it's not like he can stay in Mickey's truck forever, yet he can't stop the knot of dread building in the pit of his stomach.

Mickey stops in front of Ian's house and looks over at him. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Ian wishes dearly he would, but doesn't ever want to expose Mickey to his parents' bigotry. "No. I'm. I'll be fine."

"If you need anything, I'm a phone call away," Mickey says.

"I know." Ian stares up at his house, willing his legs to move.

"Ian…" There's a hand on his knee, and he looks over into a face of earnest concern. A face belonging to a boy he doesn't know what he'd do without. "You did nothing wrong."

Ian nods mutely and forces himself to unbuckle, open the door, step outside. He wants desperately to ask Mickey to come with him, but reminds himself he can't.

"I'll call you."

"Thanks, Mickey," Ian says, and musters up a smile.

Mickey returns it, and it's like the sky opens up to reveal the sun. Ian drinks it in, figures if he sees it enough it'll start to replace other thoughts.

Mickey's truck doesn't leave until Ian closes his door behind him.

ooo

It is pitch black and pouring and Ian has forgotten an umbrella.

He stands huddled under the tiny awning of Mickey's porch, soaking wet, toes numb and body shivering. His coat feels like it weighs thirty pounds. He doesn't know what time it is and all the lights are dark, so instead of knocking, Ian calls Mickey's cell. It rings twice before Mickey picks up.

"Ian?"

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I—c-can I come in?"

"Come in?" Mickey echoes.

"I'm kind of on your porch."

"Oh. Yes, sure. Of course. I'll be right down!"

Ian shoves his phone back into his coat pocket and the door opens a moment later. Mickey's jaw drops. He opens the screen door and tugs Ian inside.

"Oh my god, Ian, what…you're soaked! How long have you been out here?"

"I walked," he tries to explain.

"Ian!"

"Shh, Mickey, your dad…"

"Your lips are _blue_ , Ian. It's _November_! Are you crazy?" Mickey's fingers are working to get Ian's coat unbuttoned and off. "Take your shoes off, please, before you drown in them. Even your socks are soaked! Do you want to get pneumonia and _die_?"

Mickey looks at him, his eyes filled with such intensity that Ian can hardly breathe. Not with Mickey's fingers, warm and steady, brushing his shoulders and sides as he pushes Ian's coat off. Ian shivers and knows it isn't from the cold.

"I needed to see you," he whispers.

"Ian…" Mickey's just looking at him, and it's a moment before he adds, "We need to get you warmed up, and then you tell me what happened."

Mickey leads him upstairs and into his bathroom, ushering Ian in and then stepping back out. Ian pulls his shirt off with numb fingers and tosses it into the bathtub. His shirt is heavy and wet despite the winter coat he'd been wearing.

Mickey returns with some clothes and pauses in the doorway. His gaze lingers and Ian's breath catches in his throat. He can't imagine Mickey being attracted to him, not like this, not ever, but especially not like this. But god, he wants him to be.

"You're shivering," is all Mickey says, and once the clothes are in Ian's arms, he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Right. Ian looks like a drowned rat.

Ian dries himself off with the towel, scrubbing it through his hair, his curls free and crazy looking, and changes into the clothing Mickey brought him. He's starting to get the feeling back in his fingers and toes, that which he hadn't even realized he'd lost.

"You gave me pajamas?" Ian says when he leaves the bathroom.

"Do you know how late it is?" Mickey asks, sitting on the side of the bed. "You might as well stay. It's not like you've never stayed over before."

"No, it's fine," Ian is quick to amend, "thank you."

"Come get warm," Mickey says, holding the comforter up for Ian to presumably get under.

He hopes he isn't blushing too hard when he climbs into Mickey's bed. There are so many blankets and pillows, and Mickey right there next to him. It's exactly what he needs.

Mickey looks over at him expectantly.

Ian exhales loudly. "Right, so…I told my parents."

"About Karofsky?"

"Well, yeah, that and…about me," he says, his throat already going tight. He doesn't want to talk about it, really does not, and wishes he could just fall asleep and forget it ever happened. But Mickey is looking at him with such worry, what else can he do?

"You came out?" Mickey says, voice hushed.

Ian nods to keep from speaking, but clearly he's expected to go on, so he swallows and does. "They weren't happy. They…when I said it, the looks on their faces. It was like, at first they didn't believe me. Like I was kidding, but it wasn't funny. So I had to insist, yes, I was sure, no, it didn't have anything to do with Karofsky-"

"Oh Jesus, what, they thought he turned you because his _mouth_ touched yours?" Mickey asks.

"I don't know, I think…they probably don't understand people are just _born_ like this. They probably refuse to believe it because in their minds it'd mean there was something defective in _them_ , like they made an alien baby or something," Ian says, his voice building to a higher pitch from anger.

Mickey lays a hand on Ian's arm, probably in part to quiet him.

"Once they realized I was serious, they were just so _disappointed_." He pauses, because he can see their faces so clearly in his mind. It only just happened hours ago, but he knows it's something he will never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tries. "No," he says, "they were disgusted."

"Oh, Ian," Mickey says.

"I knew they would be, Mickey. I know what they're like. I guess I'd just hoped, because it was _me_ , they would…I don't know…"

"I know, Ian," Mickey says, raising a hand to Ian's damp curls.

"It's not like being gay changes anything," Ian says, a certain edge of desperation in his voice, like it's Mickey he's trying to reason with. "Not really. I mean, yeah, it's a part of who I am, but I'm still _me_. I'm still the same person, I just don't want to date girls. What's the big deal?" Mickey's stroking his hair, fingers gentle against his scalp, trying to calm him, but Ian's just so upset.

 _'I didn't raise you to be…like this,' his father had said, and Ian had known what had been in his mind, the words he'd been thinking; fag or a homo or queer._

"I've just tried, my whole life, to make them proud. They were never happy with any of my achievements, I could never get it right, so I tried harder and harder, and all I wanted- and now, I can't undo this. I can't try again or try harder. It's done. I'm gay, so I'm just like…a disappointment forever. Their only son—"

"Ian, no," Mickey cuts in sharply. "I'm sorry your parents don't understand, believe me, I want more than anything to make them, for you, but you are not a disappointment. Not on any level. No parent could ask for a better son." Mickey slides his hand from Ian's hair to his jaw, making sure he's looking at him. "They're in the wrong, not you. Don't look at yourself through their eyes."

"Whose, then?" Ian asks, voice barely audible. "I can't just find a new family."

"Then…make me your family," Mickey says. "Listen to me, not them, because I know the truth. You're smart, funny, and talented. You're the kindest person I know. You have to be, to put up with those nerds in glee." He smiles, and Ian can't help but try and return it. "And to put up with me."

"Shut up, Mickey," Ian says, eyes downcast with a small smile. It's hard to look at Mickey, his heart is pounding so hard.

"It's true, Ian." Mickey shifts closer, curling Ian into his side. Ian tries to resist at first, even tries to push Mickey away, but Mickey's hold only tightens, and Ian finds himself giving in. Mickey slides them both down so they're no longer sitting. "Get some sleep. Hopefully things won't feel so hopeless in the morning, hm?"

Ian nods and tries to look up, but Mickey has him using his chest as a pillow. He doesn't know what to do with his arm, so he curls his hand in the blanket and lets it rest on Mickey's stomach. Mickey is warm and the bed is comfortable, and any other night Ian would never be able to sleep curled up against Mickey like this. They've shared his bed before, but never so close. Ian is exhausted, though, physically and emotionally, and it isn't long after he closes his eyes that sleep takes him.

ooo

Ian wakes to the gentle press of fingers on his neck. He opens his eyes, confused, and finds Mickey gazing at him. Mickey's lying on his side, facing Ian, and slowly withdraws his hand.

"You're bruised," Mickey says in explanation.

Ian raises his own hand to his neck. "Karofsky."

There's a flash of anger on Mickey's face, but Ian can see him push it down. A long moment passes, and Ian lets it, warm in bed, here with Mickey.

"I told my dad," Mickey finally says.

"That's okay," Ian says, because honestly he didn't expect Mickey not to.

"No, I mean…" Mickey swallows, sucks his lower lip into his mouth a moment. "I came out."

" _What?_ " Ian sits up, a tentatively excited smile forming on his face. "When?"

"This morning. Like a half hour ago." Mickey drags himself up as well, but doesn't look happy. He looks anything but.

"Mickey?" Ian prompts. "Was he mad?" Ian can't imagine it, but he doesn't know what else to think with the look on Mickey's face.

"No…he said he knew. He didn't care. I'm _sorry_ , Ian. I did it because of you. You'd been so brave, I thought…if you can do it, so can I. I wanted to because of you," Mickey says, and it's all coming out in a rush. "Like solidarity, or—"

"Mickey, stop—Mickey. Why are you sorry?" Ian asks, because god, he's touched that Mickey would be inspired by his mess. If anything he thought it would only make Mickey _more_ reluctant.

"Because it's not _fair_ ," Mickey says. "You deserve to have the understanding parent. I've known and hidden like a coward, I've been mean, and all you've ever been is honest. How does this make sense?"

"Mickey, no…hiding wasn't cowardly," Ian admonishes. "You had every right to be scared. God, Mickey, I probably wouldn't have told them a thing until I was moved out at college if I hadn't felt like I had to. You deserve your dad. You're good to him. And you're being honest now, aren't you?"

Mickey doesn't say anything at first, palms pressed to his forehead. He looks up at Ian. "I just want good things for you."

Ian can feel a fluttering in his chest he's come to associate with Mickey. "And I want them for you," he says gently.

"My dad would adopt you, you know," Mickey says.

Ian almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of that statement, because the weight of it, when taken seriously, is too much, and Ian feels like he's done enough crying for a lifetime. "Does that mean I'd have to start calling you brother?"

"Brother from another mother."

Ian laughs, imagining it.

The tension mostly gone, Ian washes up and they go downstairs for breakfast. Mickey made it, this time, and Ian can't help but feel a little amused that the both of them came out to Burt during breakfast preparation.

Burt seems happy enough to see him, and he must not mind too much that Ian's there, because he ends up staying over the entire weekend. He doesn't mean to, but Mickey keeps insisting, and it isn't like he's in any hurry to return home.

ooo

Ian is nervous to return to school.

He's been assured Karofsky has been suspended, expulsion pending, but Karofsky has friends and Ian has no idea who knows what. Mickey seems reluctant to leave his side, and Ian can't help but wonder what he's going to say to Azimio and Puck and the rest. Mickey hasn't talked about it and Ian can't bring himself to ask.

Mid-morning, when Ian is alone at his locker switching his books out, Azimio corners him.

"Heard you got my boy suspended, Gallagher," he says.

Karofsky's always been the more physically violent one of the group, but that doesn't mean Ian trusts Azimio to keep his cool. Still, Ian can't keep his mouth shut.

"He got _himself_ suspended."

"'Cause you were tryin to mack on him? That's just _wrong_ , Gallagher. Keep your homo urges to your glee club queers," Azimio says.

Ian is surprised Karofsky told Azimio about the kiss. Maybe he thought Ian would tell, so he wanted to turn it around on him? The kiss is not something Ian wants anyone to know, and he slams his locker door closed in frustration.

"You've got your information wrong, I wouldn't kiss that creep if he was the last guy on Earth," Ian snaps. He tries to walk away to his next class, but Azimio follows.

"That's not what Karofsky said."

"Are you going to follow me around like a lost puppy all day, Azimio, or are you just trying to make new friends?" Ian asks, walking a little faster.

"All I'm sayin is your ass is done for when Karofsky comes back," Azimio says.

Ian spins on his heel. "What, you don't want to take care of it for him? Since you're so interested in my _ass_ and all."

Azimio recoils. "Don't get freaky on _me_ , dwarf. I'll introduce your face to my friend the brick wall."

"Of course your friend is a brick wall, it matches your intelligence level."

Ian stops short. He didn't say that.

He turns to see Mickey giving Azimio a scathing look from behind him.

"What crawled up your ass, Milkovich?" Azimio says, defensive. "Hope it wasn't Gallagher here."

Mickey looks like he's ready to kill. "Good one, Azimio. I'm impressed. What's even more impressive is you picking on someone after Karofsky got suspended. Very smart."

"What is _with_ you? Have you hopped on the Homo Express?" Azimio snorts.

Mickey shoves Azimio into the wall, which is impressive considering Azimio probably has something like two hundred pounds on him. "Fuck _off_ , I swear to _god_ —"

" _Mickey_!" Ian cuts in, grabbing at Mickey's arm.

Mickey grunts in annoyance and shakes Ian off, but steps back, posture still threatening. "Fine."

Azimio barks out a laugh. "What is this? You a full-fledged fag, Milkovich?" He whistles low, and Ian has to physically hold Mickey back.

"Stop, just stop, Mickey—"

"-I will feed you your _teeth_ , Azimio—"

" _Boys_!" It's the Geometry teacher, who's old as dirt and stands about a foot shorter than Ian. The look on her face could stop a bear in its tracks. "Just _what_ are you doing?"

Ian lets go of Mickey, and he's the first to speak up. "Nothing, Mrs. Bletheim. Sorry."

Mickey and Azimio don't say a thing as Mrs. Bletheim stares them down. "Well? Move along, then!"

Azimio rolls his eyes and walks off in the opposite direction. Ian glances at Mickey, and follows him. "Are you okay?" he asks, keeping his voice quiet.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm pissed off, but I knew this would happen," Mickey says. He sighs, and looks over at Ian. "Are you?"

Ian nods, but he can't manage anything but a frown. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks for standing up for me, but I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want you to take crap from them."

"I'm done pretending. I don't care anymore," Mickey says. He shrugs and shifts his bag from one shoulder to the other. "I'm not ready to come out, but I'm not going to act like their friend." He stops walking and turns to Ian with a smile. " _You're_ my friend."

Ian smiles and blushes and looks down. What _is_ this? Why can't he stop feeling like this? "Okay…"

"And this is your class," Mickey says, indicating the door they've stopped in front of, and Ian can tell he's trying not to laugh.

"…Oh. Right." Ian does laugh, mostly to kill the weird tension that seems to be all of his own making. "See you later."

"See you," Mickey says, and disappears around the corner to get to his own class.

Ian walks into the room on autopilot. He gets in just as the bell rings and barely even registers his desk when he sits down at it. He can't stop remembering the way Mickey said it, _you're my friend_. Like Ian is the only important person in the world. He can't stop _smiling_. Doesn't notice it at first, just knows when his cheeks start to ache a little. About a half hour into class Ian realizes the teacher is talking, has been talking, and he's even been taking notes, which…when he looks down at them, sees they are nothing but mindless doodles. Okay…

His pocket vibrates, and with as much stealth as he can, he reaches down to check it (and put it on silent). There's a feeling of anticipation that plummets when he sees the name on the screen isn't Mickey's.

He's staring stupidly down at his phone when it hits him.

He's in love with Mickey.

He knows it's true, especially after the weekend. After such a devastating turn with his parents, to feel as good as he did over at Mickey's house? He's hardly even let himself think about his father. All he has thought about has been Mickey's sweet, calming voice, eyes the color of a golden universe in the middle of sky, smooth skin, and arms unafraid to hold him when he's upset.

…Oh god. He's comparing Mickey's eyes to things. He has it _bad_.

But Mickey has been there for him in a way no one else has, in a way he doesn't want anyone else to be. Ian knows without having to be told that Mickey cares about him, _him_ , just as easily as he knows he loves Mickey.

He smiles down at his notes and forgets to reply to the text.


	11. Chapter 11

Ian is still floating on cloud _I Love Mickey_ at lunch. As soon as he sits down at his usual table, the members of New Directions _barrage_ him with questions about what went down on Friday. He was able to talk to a few of them in homeroom, but nothing too in depth, and being the nosy group they are, they want specifics.

"—Are you okay?—"

"—I heard Karofsky beat you up because you pelted him with eggs—"

"—Where would Ian get eggs?—"

"—I heard Ian was singing to him—"

"—Stacy in Chem said Karofsky trapped you in a locker!—"

"—I like eggs, they have baby birds in them-"

"-Karofsky said you kissed him," Santana says, looking very much like the cat that got the cream.

Ian scowls. Good mood, gone. "Karofsky is delusional."

"That's what Puck said," Santana says in a sing-song voice.

"I don't care what any of them say, why would I try to kiss someone who's done nothing but make my life miserable?" Ian challenges, glaring up at Santana.

"Defensive much?" Santana shrugs a bare shoulder, looking like she could care less. "Maybe you're into S&M, how would I know?"

"I love those," Brittany says.

Santana and Ian look at her.

"The peanut ones," Brittany adds.

"Look," Ian says, "I didn't kiss him. He bashed my face into my locker door, I got angry and went after him, we got into a fight, I told Figgins. The end."

Santana snickers. "I can't believe you snitched."

"Santana, isn't there some other table that would love to have you?" Rachel snaps, arms folded. "The Cheerios? Puck? _Satan_?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Fine. I've spent enough time in Smurf village for the day, anyhow," she says, giving Rachel and Ian sugar-sweet smiles before departing with a brisk whip of her skirt.

" _Ugh_ ," Rachel says. "If she didn't have such an amazing voice I would lock her out of every single glee meeting."

"That's okay," Ian says. "Azimio already gave me crap. It's not like I didn't expect it after what went down with Karofsky."

"Karofsky just hates that you fight back," Artie says with a sage nod. "Which is what makes you so badass, yo. If that had been me? I'd have just cried."

Ian laughs. "No way, Artie, you're a beast."

The table dissolves into what they would have done in Ian's situation, or what they'd _like_ to do to Karofsky, when Ian looks across the room and notices Mickey. He isn't at his usual table with Azimio and Puck, he's at a table in the corner by himself.

Ian is standing before he even realizes it, and Rachel gives him a questioning look. "Um, I'll be right back," he says, and winds his way around students and lunch tables until he reaches Mickey.

"Hey," Ian says with a smile. "What are you doing over here?"

Mickey smirks up at him and indicates his lunch tray with his fork. "Eating?"

"Well, yeah, but…" He glances over at Mickey's former table. "I guess you meant what you said. You aren't even talking to them."

"I'm not sure how many times I have to tell you, I don't like them," Mickey says, tipping back in his chair.

Ian purses his lips. "Come eat with me, then."

"With your glee club?" Mickey asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Sure, why not?" Ian asks.

"There are so many reasons."

"Please?" Ian gives Mickey his widest, cutest smile, as if this will somehow help entice him.

Mickey sighs. "Fine. They aren't going to like it, though." He stands and picks up his tray.

"Pfft, why not?" Ian asks, leading Mickey over.

"I think you've forgotten who I am?" Mickey says.

And indeed, Ian does seem to have forgotten who Mickey is. Or at least how much the others hate him, because when he reaches the table with Mickey in tow, the entire table is either looking at Ian as though he's lost his mind, or glaring at Mickey.

"Hey, um," Ian starts to say, startled by their chilly reception. "This is—"

"Is he holding you hostage?" Rachel asks.

" _What_?"

"Yes, I'm marching Ian around the lunch room by threat of my plastic lunch tray," Mickey says.

"Look, dude, don't mess with Ian. He has a black belt," Finn cuts in.

"That's racist," Brittany says.

"He's not messing with me—"

"I'm sorry, were you _dropped on your head_ as a child?" Mickey says to Brittany.

"Leave Brittany alone," Artie snaps.

"Yeah, what exactly are you doing here, anyway?" Mercedes asks. "You think you can take on all nine of us at once, skinny boy?"

"Are you sure you're counting right? Because between her ego," Mickey jerks a thumb at Rachel, "and your _crazy_ , I'd say there are at least double that."

"Oh _, hell_ to the no—"

Rachel stands up. "-Excuse me, but you seem to have mistaken _ego_ for _talent_ and _confidence_ , two things at which I excel. Not that you would know the meaning of the word, or understand talent when you see it, because all you are is a small-minded bully who thinks throwing slushies at other people makes you better than them! Well guess what? It doesn't. It just makes you _pathetic_."

Mickey laughs. " _I'm_ pathetic? Look who you're dating, Miss Coco Peru, the school's _dumbest_ jock, which is saying something. And if you think singing badly, matching paisley and stripes, and joining every single loser club at this school means you're _talented_ , you're _wrong_."

"Hey," Finn pipes up, "did he mean me?"

" _They're not dating_ ," Quinn snaps.

"Oh, right," Mickey says, like he didn't actually know, and gives Rachel a fake apologetic smile. She looks absolutely humiliated, and Ian can't believe how fast this went wrong.

" _Mickey_ , Jesus. Guys! Stop! Mickey isn't going to do anything—"

But too much shit has already been slung, and Mickey's edging his way out. "Screw it," he says. "See you later, Ian."

"Mickey—"

But he's already on his way out. Ian watches him go with a helpless frown, and looks back to his friends to find them staring at him in varying cases of confusion and anger.

"What. Was that?" Tina asks.

Ian sighs and sits down. "You guys couldn't have even given him a chance?"

"Why would we do that?" Rachel asks, her voice reaching an unusual pitch. "Did you hear the things he said?"

"Have you lost your mind, Ian?" Mercedes asks.

"No. Look. He's my friend," Ian says.

There's a moment of complete silence.

"Mickey _Milkovich_?" Mike says.

Ian nods.

"Your _friend_?"

"Since when?" Mercedes adds.

"Glee club," Rachel says, standing and holding a finger up, "if you'll just excuse us for a minute, please." She walks briskly to Ian's side of the table and motions for him to stand, linking arms with him and leading him away.

"-Why does she always treat our lunch group like it's a glee club meeting?" Ian hears Mercedes asking as they walk off.

"What are you doing?" Ian asks, still annoyed by how things went with Mickey and his other friends.

" _Ian_ ," Rachel says, the beginning of an almost maniacal smile forming on her face.

" _Rachel_?"

"Are you involved in a secret affair with Mickey Milkovich?" she asks, eyes bright and locked on his.

Ian sputters. "What!?"

Rachel just stares at him.

"I—excuse me, but Mickey isn't gay—"

Rachel looks skyward. "Ian, please. What did I tell you? I have _amazing_ gaydar."

Ian knows he's blushing and dearly wishes he wasn't. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to out Mickey, but if Rachel is already convinced, she's going to be impossible to argue with. "Fine, Rachel," he says in a hushed voice, "he is. But please, _please_ don't tell anyone. He doesn't want anyone to know."

"Oh my _god_!" Rachel squeals, hands balled in front of her mouth. "Ian!" She quiets her voice, standing up on her tip toes to whisper dramatically at him. "This is so exciting! I know exactly what you're going through! I dated a boy from our rival glee club and I had to keep it secret because New Directions thought I was being a traitor. It was kind of exciting, having secret rendezvous-"

"I'm not dating him!" Ian hisses, embarrassed. "We're just friends. He told me he was gay. We relate to each other. That's it."

"Oh." Rachel's looking at him with an incredibly sad expression.

" _What_?"

"You like him, don't you?" she asks.

"No!" Ian realizes he's protesting too hard after the fact and bites his lower lip. "I mean…" He flounders, then looks at her with purposeful intensity. "Do you promise not to say anything? To anyone?"

"Ian. I would never tell the secrets of your heart," Rachel says.

"The secrets of my-? _Rachel_ , it's…" _I love him_. "I just like him," Ian says, spreading his arms a moment. "l'll get over it."

"He doesn't return your feelings?"

Ian makes a face. "I haven't told him."

"Have you even tried flirting with him?" Rachel asks.

"Not exactly. I don't want to screw up our friendship, you know? I'm pretty much the only friend he has. And he's the only one like me. Our friendship is too important to risk it," he tries to explain. "Plus, he has a type. And I am very much _not_ it."

"True love doesn't have a type," Rachel says, her voice sing-song and happy. Ian just groans and drops it.

ooo

Ian doesn't see Mickey in the lunch room when Rachel finishes her inquisition, so he sends a text. Mickey replies that he's outside, and Ian finds him alone at one of the tables in the outer courtyard.

"Sorry," Ian says in greeting.

"Don't be. I didn't expect them to want me there. Anyway, I was kind of a jerk myself," Mickey says without looking up from his classwork.

Ian sighs and sits down. "I didn't think it'd be such a _thing_."

Mickey smirks. "They're your show choir friends. I think dramatic is in their nature."

"Very funny." Ian rubs his hands together against the cold. "I'll just sit with you at lunch, then."

Mickey looks up and there's a teasing smile on his face. "Don't you see enough of me?"

Ian doesn't know what to say to that. _No_ seems a bit much, and _yes_ is a lie. Not that he isn't already lying to Mickey about a few things.

"It just sucks to sit alone."

"Such a thoughtful friend," Mickey says, soft and melodic. There's a moment and something seems to register on Mickey's face. His expression turns stern. "Okay, where is your coat?"

"My locker," Ian says.

Mickey takes Ian's hands between his and rubs. "You are freezing! Ian, I swear, your mind is on another planet half the time."

Ian doesn't mind the scolding, because Mickey's hands, gloved but for the fingertips, send the tiniest shivers up his arms every time there's a brush of skin against skin. Mickey's leaning close, eyelashes fanned out along his cheeks, which are flushed from the cold. He smells like spearmint, and in a way he looks like a creature of winter, something beautiful and delicate.

Mickey looks up when Ian doesn't reply, and Ian looks into his eyes, so lovely and close, and can't say anything at all. Mickey doesn't say anything, either, and Ian swears they just look at each other for a decades-long moment, Mickey's hands having stopped in their efforts at some point along the way.

"Ian…"

Ian opens his mouth and makes the effort. "Yeah?" It comes out as a whisper.

Mickey is about to reply when another boy sits down next to Mickey and startles them both. " _There_ you are. You're harder to find than a four leaf clover."

And the moment is gone.

"Oh, Rory. Sorry. It completely slipped my mind that we were meeting at lunch," Mickey says, and _who is Rory and why is Mickey being so friendly with him?_

"The only Irish bloke in all of Ohio, probably, and I'm forgettable! Oy," Rory says, and Ian can tell he's teasing, and Mickey actually _smiles at him_.

"No, I swear, it's just because I was so hungry," Mickey says, putting his hands up in surrender.

Ian's had enough. He moves to stand, clearing his throat a little. "I'll see you later, Mickey."

Mickey flashes a slightly confused smile his way. "Okay. Bye, Ian." The Rory kid just kind of looks at him, and Ian doesn't even try to hide his annoyance as he walks off.

ooo

Ian and Mickey meet up after school for Ian's French tutoring. Each lesson is becoming shorter and shorter as they tend to dissolve into conversation or flipping through fashion magazines or impromptu karaoke sessions. Once, Ian brought his karaoke machine to Mickey's house, and there it has remained. Ever since Ian came out to his parents he spends as little time at home as possible, and he doesn't bring Mickey over at all. Mickey hasn't said anything, and they make good use of the machine (sometimes to the point where Burt, downstairs, will bang a broom handle against the ceiling to signal he's had enough of cheesy 80's duets and Broadway numbers).

They have such a good time that Ian doesn't think about Rory at all, his mind full up with Mickey. He soaks it in, each time a hand or an arm would brush, the sound Mickey's laughter made, his smiles and the way his eyes slanted when something was especially funny.

It isn't until the next day when Ian waits and waits and waits for Mickey to come into the lunchroom and he doesn't, that Ian wonders. He sends a text in his impatience.

 **Ian:** where are you?

 **Mickey:** In the library studying with Rory.

Ian feels his face grow hot with jealousy.

 **Ian:** you could have let me know

 **Mickey:** Sorry? You have your friends to sit with, I didn't think it would matter.

Ian is so inexplicably angry he doesn't reply. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and stares down at his rapidly cooling macaroni and cheese. God, the lunch food at this school is _abhorrent_.

Maybe five minutes later, Ian gets another text.

 **Mickey:** Are you mad at me?

 _Is he-?_ The text only makes Ian more angry, and he quickly types bacMickey: _no I'm just busy with my friends_. In his mind he's underlined 'friends.' Plural. People who are not you. Take that, Mickey Milkovich.

But he isn't. He hasn't heard one word any of them have said as they chatter around him. He hasn't said a thing, hasn't eaten a bite. He tries to pay attention now, wincing at a particularly loud peal of laughter. It's Quinn, laughing at something Finn's said, and Ian catches Rachel's look of hurt. He frowns sympathetically at her.

What if Rory's gay? He's cute and he has an _accent_ and why wouldn't Mickey like him? But it isn't even just that, it's that _Ian_ is Mickey's friend. No one else. Ian is the only one Mickey smiles at like that and spends one on one time with. Sure, Ian wants Mickey to make friends with New Directions, but that's because he knows them. Because he hadn't considered the possibility of any of them taking Mickey away from him.

And wow, this is bad. Because he is being really selfish and really unfair. At least these thoughts are just that, at least he hasn't acted on them. Mickey deserves friends, and god, he deserves to have someone…special. Even if it isn't Ian, and even if it would kill him to watch it happen. To know Mickey would rather be with someone else.

Ian grabs his satchel and starts looking for a mirror, and—wait, god, why would he have a mirror? He really is going crazy. He just wants to look at himself, like he can't even remember his own face. Is he cute or handsome? Is he appealing, generally?

Ian looks around the table for the best candidate of advice-giving. He chews at his lower lip and considers each one.

"Rachel," he finally hisses, nudging her ankle under the table. She gives him a questioning look. He stands and motions for her to follow.

When he has her away from the table he asks, "Can I talk to you in the choir room?"

ooo

Ian is sitting in the choir room across a panel of very harsh judges.

"He needs more bling," Brittany says.

When Ian asked Rachel how he could make himself look better she had called the entire female ratio of New Directions into the Choir Room. It's like Project Ian, and is more than a little unnerving.

"Less gel," Mercedes adds.

"Have you ever considered not wearing a bowtie?" Tina asks.

"Or plaid?" Quinn says.

"Or no clothes at all?" Santana says, and licks her lips.

Ian is starting to sweat. "Um…"

Rachel taps her finger against her mouth. "Ladies! I think you'll _all_ agree with me when I say this calls for a shopping trip!"

And that is how Ian Gallagher ends up at the mall with six shopping-crazed girls, each of them flitting around store after store finding their own versions of attire they think Ian should wear. He actually almost makes Brittany cry when he refuses the three piece lavender suit she finds. No, he does not want goth chic (Tina), zebra stripes (Mercedes), or a sweater with puppies on it (god knows where Rachel even found such a thing). Quinn picks out something nice, but when he comes out of the dressing room they all decide he looks like he's going on a job interview. Or to Sunday mass.

"What exactly is this for?" Tina asks. "You didn't say."

"Yeah, that does help in a make-over," Mercedes says.

"Well." Ian blushes a little, smoothing his hands down the button-up Quinn brought him. "There's this _guy_ …"

Rachel's jaw drops because she _knows_ , and he makes a point not to look at her.

There are _oohs_ and squeals, and _oh my god, who!?,_ and Santana speaks up above all of them. "Why didn't you just say so, Gallagher? Give me your size in jeans and five minutes," she says, and once she has his measurements she disappears around the corner.

Tina and Mercedes give each other a look.

Rachel seems vaguely irritated. "If she brings back a pair of leather pants…"

Santana returns and presses a stack of clothing in Ian's arms. "And you'll wear socks with this, entienda?"

Ian changes into what Santana brought him and looks at himself in the mirror. The outfit consists of a simple cotton black v-neck shirt and a rather uncomfortably tight pair of jeans. Not skintight, but enough to hug his ass and thighs. It's definitely not him. But then, isn't that the point?

When he leaves the changing room he's greeted with widened eyes, a few tiny gasps, and an awed _damn_. He can't stop blushing, feeling weirdly exposed.

"Am I a genius, or am I a genius?" Santana preens.

"You. Are a genius," Tina agrees.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "You've just dressed him up like _Puck_. How unsurprising."

"Hey, it works," Santana says. " _You_ even made out with him, didn't you?"

Ian grins in surprise. "Oh, really? Puck?"

Rachel blushes and huffs. "He was being uncharacteristically charming!" She folds her arms and gives him a prim look. "It didn't last. We're from two different worlds."

"Right," Santana says sarcastically. "The hood and the Never Neverland."

"—If you're likening me to a _pirate_ —"

"-Seriously, you dress like a five year old librarian—"

"—Ever heard of _sexy_ librarian?—"

"-Yeah, and all of _that_? Not it—"

Rachel and Santana bicker for most of the rest of their shopping trip. Regardless, Santana finds Ian a pair of heavy black boots to go with his new outfit and gives him explicit instructions on how to do his hair. Most of it involves not using ' _an elephants' weight in gel_ ,' which gets a hardy 'amen' from Mercedes.

ooo

When it's time for school the next day, Ian chickens out and wears his regular clothes. He's decided that black t-shirt Ian will be plan B. Plan A for Get Mickey To Like Me is a little more dramatic, but involves less people. Which is how, at nine thirty at night, he finds himself driving over to Mickey's house. It's dark and snowing lightly, so Ian parks at the curb and carefully picks his way up Mickey's driveway and into the backyard. Mickey's bedroom light is on, which should mean he's in there. Like some dorky teenager from a John Hughe's movie, Ian tosses a stone at Mickey's window to get his attention.

Nothing happens, so he throws another.

He sees a face press against the window, and a moment later it opens. Ian sucks in a breath, pushing down on a sudden jolt of fear, embarrassment.

"Ian?" Mickey calls down. Ian can just make out his face, his features softly illuminated from his bedroom light. "What are you doing?"

"I wanted to tell you something," Ian says, peering through the dark and the falling snow.

"Okay? Come inside, it's snowing."

Ian turns on the ipod boombox he brought with him. He hears Mickey protest a few more times, but he stops when Ian starts to sing.

 _"There's no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard, no song that I could sing, but I can try for your heart…"_

Ian chances a look up at Mickey and finds him with his hands covering most of his face, fingers spread so he can peek through. Ian can tell he's grinning by the shape of his eyes, though, and a warm smile spreads across his face.

"Ian, are you for real?" Mickey asks during the interlude, voice high pitched.

Ian just smiles and launches into the next part of the song, keeping his gaze on Mickey, pouring his heart into each word.

 _"And there is no, no song I could sing, and there is no combination of words I could say, but I will still tell you one thing, we're better together…"_

Mickey applauds quietly and Ian bows. He feels filled up with the look he put on Mickey's face. It's all he wanted to see. It's all he ever wants to see, a smile on Mickey's face that he put there.

"You're insane, you know that?" Mickey says, and there's laughter in his voice.

Ian takes a step closer to the house, hope bubbling up in his chest. "It's been weird, lately. I just- Do you forgive me?"

"Of course! There's nothing to forgive. Come up, you're going to freeze!"

Ian beams at him, relieved. "I can't."

"What? Why?" Mickey calls, leaning out the window.

Ian shakes his head, still smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Ian?"

Ian waves, already making his way back to the driveway. It went well, he thinks. Mickey liked the song, the way he was smiling was everything Ian wanted. Ian puts his ipod in the passenger seat of his car and closes the door, when he hears another door open and close. He turns and gets a look at a somewhat breathless Mickey Milkovich before his arms are full of him.

"Mickey…" Mickey is hugging him tight, and Ian hugs back, allows himself the luxury of burying his face in the crook of Mickey's neck. His heart beats faster. _Is this it?_

"Thank you for the song."

Ian feels himself blushing. "You're welcome."

"Better be careful, or people will think you're my boyfriend," Mickey says, pulling back from the hug so Ian can see his face. He plays with the zipper of Ian's coat, looking up at him almost shyly.

Now. Ian needs to say something, he should say something. Mickey is standing so close, looks so happy and _free_. He knows now is the time, right now is the perfect moment. Three words, they should be easy to say to his best friend. "I'm sorry..."

Mickey drops Ian's zipper and looks at him with a frown. "Sorry? ...Do you think that's how I'd feel?"

"I-I don't know," Ian says stupidly, knowing that he just missed his opportunity.

Mickey shakes his head in something like disbelief, mouth parted but nothing coming out like he doesn't know what to say. "…After?—"

"No, it's fine. I get it, Ian. That's how you feel." Mickey's walking backwards, he's going to go back inside. Ian needs to stop him, but his feet won't comply. He messed it up. "Thanks for the song."

"Mickey—"

"Mickey?" Burt is standing in the open doorway, looking at the both of them in confusion. "Hey Ian. You okay? It's late."

"Hi, I'm fine," Ian says, knowing the moment is completely lost. And anyway, Mickey is already going up the porch. "See you later..."

Ian watches Mickey and his father talk for a moment, before Burt waves to Ian and closes the door behind them.

Mickey is gone and Ian's feet eventually remember how to move again. He gets into his car and drives. So, maybe he shouldn't have apologized, because being Mickey's boyfriend is nothing to apologize for - especially when he'd just serenaded him...but why did he bother Mickey so much? Between bouts of cursing himself for saying the wrong thing and wanting to pound his head against the steering wheel, he tries to come up with an answer. He obviously said the wrong thing, and he'll just have to go to Plan B.

ooo

The next morning is a Friday; the weekend is upon him, but first, he has something to do.

The song was the first part, so it's on to plan B. Plan B is the black v-neck shirt, snug-fitting jeans, biker boots, and ungelled hair. (Well, maybe a _little_ gel.)

Ian feels ridiculous. This really is not him, he's going to stick out _because_ it's not him and what if it just makes Mickey laugh? If anything will appeal to Mickey, it's a well-dressed man, and this is very biker chic. But he's not sure it's Mickey's style...

Well, the jeans were expensive, anyway. And Santana liked it, and it _does_ show off his ass. Ian twists his body, trying to get a look at said ass in the mirror. He really hopes it's looking good, anyway.

Ian turns up to school a few minutes late on purpose, not wanting to navigate the morning crowd in his new outfit. If Mickey laughs, at least he'll have an excuse to go into the restroom and change. He stands outside homeroom and takes a deep breath.

Now or never.

Ian creeps into the classroom. No one really looks up except Rachel, who gasps, eyes widening in excitement. Ian makes a face at her trying to convey to her to _calm down_ , when Mickey looks up. Mickey's mouth doesn't part, eyes don't widen. There's no laughter. Mickey is holding a pen, the end of it cushioned on his lower lip. His eyes travel the length of Ian's body and Ian swears he can _feel_ it.

It's like he stands there frozen for hours, but knows it's just a moment. Ian forces himself to move, sitting down in his usual spot between Rachel and Mickey. He doesn't say anything, hopefully isn't blushing, pretends it's just like any other day.

" _Pssst_." Rachel's waving her hand in a _come closer_ motion, so Ian leans toward her desk. "You look _amazing_ ," she squeals.

Quinn leans past Rachel and gives a thumbs up.

"Shhh, shut up," Ian hisses, blushing and opening his Calc book to some random page to appear as though he is in a true state of aloofness.

Enough time passes that Ian wonders if Mickey is ignoring him, when he feels Mickey's foot tapping at the leg of his desk. He turns to Mickey with what is probably an over-eager smile.

"Run out of gel?" Mickey asks, smiling around his pen.

Ian raises a hand to his hair, self-conscious. He'd tamed the curls, but kept some volume to his hair. "I thought I'd try something new."

"New clothes, too," Mickey says, looking down at his homework and writing something on his paper.

"I just thought—"

Mickey looks back over, eyebrow raised.

He's about to continue when the teacher calls him up to his desk.

There's a note from the Principal's office. Ian slowly gathers his things. Mickey is watching him, curious, but he has most of the class' attention now and doesn't want to make a point of singling Mickey out to say something before he leaves. He shrugs a shoulder at his friends before slipping out the door. As he makes his way to Figgins' office he tries to run through all the things he could possibly be in trouble for. Try as he might, he can't come up with anything. Maybe whatever Figgins has to say is a good thing? Maybe he's going to be valedictorian! Or maybe he just has to move his car. Did he park in a teacher's spot?

Ian checks in with the secretary, who sends him right back to Figgins' office. Principal Figgins is waiting behind his desk, hands folded.

"Ian, I called you here because I have some unfortunate news," Figgins says after they share pleasantries. Ian feels his stomach drop. He knows exactly what Figgins is going to say in that moment. It's like a shock of cold water. Why didn't he see this coming? "Your case was taken to the school board, but due to lack of evidence, David's strong denial, and his standing here at McKinley—"

"Lack of evidence?" Ian repeats, cutting in. "What do they want, fingerprints?"

"Now, Ian, I do not doubt the validity of your claim, but I have no control over what the board decides," Figgins sighs. "Effective Monday, David Karofsky's suspension is over, and he will be permitted to return to McKinley."

ooo

Ian walks to his next class on automatic. He knew this was a possibility, that there had always been a chance Karofsky's expulsion wouldn't hold. Now he's well and truly screwed, because how is he expected to go up against a freshly pissed off David Karofsky? The guy has all the emotional stability of a volcano, and worse, something like two hundred pounds on him. It's not like even if Ian knew how to fight he'd stand a chance.

Mickey texts when Ian doesn't, asking what happened. Ian says he'll tell him later, doesn't want to tell him via sneaking texts during Calculus. Not that he can pay attention to the teacher anyway.

They don't get a chance to talk until lunch, when Mickey drags Ian into an empty corner of the library.

"I saw Azimio and Puck acting like they'd won the freaking Juvie of the Year award. He's coming back, isn't he?" Mickey says, eyes searching Ian's.

Ian lets out a long sigh. He's secretly grateful Mickey figured it out and said it for him. "Yeah. The school board apparently doesn't think my argument is enough to get him kicked out for good."

"I wish I could say I'm surprised." Mickey frowns and looks away, and Ian knows he's angry, can tell just by the set of his shoulders.

"Me too." And somehow, Mickey's anger bolsters him. It's a serious problem for both of them; Ian, quite obviously because he got Karofsky suspended and he _knows_ , and Mickey, because he's turned his back on all of them. Still, somehow it doesn't seem so much like he's drowning, now. "I guess we'll just have to have each other's backs."

Mickey's eyes flick back to him and he smiles faintly. "I was thinking of making a shiv."

"Mace?"

"Sai."

"Ninja stars, definitely."

"How about good ol' nunchucks?"

Ian laughs. "I like that we've somehow turned into Ninja Turtles. Hey, you know, my folks are on a trip this weekend, you should come over and we can watch some self-defense videos on youtube."

"I have to finish my paper for Government or I'll put it off forever and end up working on it on Monday morning. How about tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Ian says, trying not to look as giddy as he feels. "I'll stock up on snacks."

" _Ian_."

"Remember my rule," Ian says in a sing-song voice.

Mickey sighs. "'No diet on a weekend.'" He crosses his arms. "May I remind you, it isn't a _diet_. It's called eating healthy. Also if it _was_ a diet, you can't just stop on weekends."

"Same thing." Ian grins. "Now come on, let's go get some lunch before everything halfway edible is gone."


	12. Chapter 12

Ian stops by the grocery store on the way home and uses his dad's credit card to buy a cart full of truly awful sugary and salty food. There's enough for a full-blown party, and he entertains the idea of having New Directions over, too. Maybe then they could get to know Mickey and see him the way Ian does. Well, mostly how he does.

He gets a text from Mercedes while he's stocking the fridge, inviting him over for a girl's night, and he replies to remind her that even though he's gay that doesn't mean he is a girl. She says as long as he isn't staring lewdly at the girls in their pajamas, it counts.

He gives in and goes over. The night is spent with him listening to them gossip and being bullied into singing cheesy romantic duets with them that somehow culminate with Tina spiking his hair into a mohawk.

At some point it started snowing, and by the time he leaves, because Mercedes' dad wasn't down with him staying the night no matter how many times she told him he was gay and not a perv, the roads are already slick. Nothing on his way home appears to have been salted or plowed, so he drives extra slow and careful, even if at such a late hour there isn't much traffic.

Returning to an empty house doesn't make him feel any more or less lonely than when his parents are home. Nothing out of the ordinary happens until Ian is reading in bed, eyes drooping, about two minutes from giving up and going to sleep, when the lights go out. His eyes open with a jolt, though the room is pitch black and silent and there's nothing to see. His heart races and he feels like his lungs are constricting, like the whole room is closing in on him because there is not one light, and who turned them out? And oh god, what if someone cut the power because they know he's alone and they're going to rob him and what if they're on their way up the stairs right now, and—

Cutting his thoughts off mid-stream, Ian fumbles for his phone on his bedside table, knocking something, he doesn't know or care what, to the floor in his haste. He turns the phone on and there's sudden light, casting shadows all around him. It isn't enough to light the whole room, but it's enough so he can make his way over to his window and open the curtains. It's a little better, then, with the moon giving him light to see by.

His heart is still racing, convinced something horrible is going to happen. He looks out, trying to determine if his entire block is without power, or if it's just his house. All he can see is the house behind his, and all the windows are dark. That doesn't necessarily mean anything, but he can't bring himself to leave his bedroom to look out the front window. He tries to think of the friends he knows who live near him. He thinks Tina is closest, but she's at Mercedes'.

Mercedes lives about a mile away, and it could just be his neighborhood out of power, but he tries her anyway. She picks up on the second ring. "Hey, Ian, what up?"

"Mercedes," he says, relieved even in some small way to hear her voice, "did your power go out?"

"Mmhm, just a minute ago. Yours, too?"

A flood of relief washes over him. _Oh thank god_. "Yeah, I guess—" He realizes, staring out the window, that it's still snowing. Heavier than when he was out earlier. "—I guess it's the storm."

"Ugh, it's a good thing you left when you did. You'd be stuck here, or you would've had a hell of a time driving in this with the street lights out."

"Yeah," Ian says, and tries desperately to think of a way to keep her on the line. He can hear the girls in the background laughing over something, and god, why hadn't he just stayed, Mercedes' dad be damned?

"Well, boo, take care and keep warm."

Ian frowns and nods, realizing belatedly she can't see him. "Oh, yeah, you too, Mercedes."

They hang up and the fear is back, clawing up Ian's spine and leaving him chilled. He's always been particularly ashamed of being afraid of the dark. It seems like one step above still peeing the bed. He would feel better if his parents were here, because every little noise makes him want to heave as he imagines everything from burglars to fictional monsters waiting in the shadows. He contemplates bringing Lord and Lady Gaga up to his room with him, but when he gathers enough courage to open his bedroom door, the sight of all that endless darkness makes him close it just as fast and hurry back into bed.

He feels all of five years old again, and mentally berates himself for being so foolish. Still, he pulls his comforter over his head and curls up under his blankets, just like a child. He turns his phone on for some light, and near about pulls up his contact list to talk to someone, anyone, but he doesn't want the phone to die and it's already sixty percent there.

Instead, he locks his eyes closed and tries to sleep. It's dark when you sleep, so what's the big deal, right? He lays there, heart thudding, for what feels like hours, when he hears knocking at his window.

Knocking. At his _window_.

Ian tries to think of a logical explanation before freaking out, but there isn't one. His window is on the second floor. There are no trees anywhere close to it, no gutters that he knows of. Which means it's a ghost or a vampire. A vampire seems like the most obvious choice, the vampire has flown up here and any second now he's going to ask to be invited in, and—

"Ian!"

 _Oh god it knows his name_.

"Blaaaaaine! Come on, it's fucking cold and I'm going to fall and die!"

Ian peeks his head out from under his comforter, terror at the sight of a face pressed up against his window. It only lasts a moment because he recognizes who it is.

" _Mickey_!?" He scrambles out of bed, and goes to push the window up before realizing it's locked. He quickly unlocks it and slides the window and storm glass up as high as he can, letting in a gust of frigid wind and a very snowy looking Mickey Milkovich. "What—how did you—what are you doing here?"

Mickey is smiling triumphantly, breathing hard, cheeks flushed and hair damp, snow falling in his wake. He closes the window when Ian does not and starts to take his winter things off. "I remembered what you said, about being afraid of the dark, and when the power went out I just thought, poor Ian, stuck in that big old house with nobody home, I bet he's freaking out. So I drove over, and I was going to call but I left my phone at the house. I couldn't see you through any of the downstairs windows, so I came into your backyard and there's a picnic table, and this trellis thing up the back wall? I climbed it, and let me tell you, it's a lot harder to do than you see in movies."

Ian just stands there, looking at Mickey in awe. Never, ever, has someone gone to such lengths just to make sure he was okay. His heart feels ready to burst, and when Mickey finally stops talking, he can't hold still anymore. He throws his arms around Mickey, holding tight. "You are the _best thing_ I have _ever_ seen."

Mickey laughs, Ian can feel his body shake from it, and hugs back. "So it's true, you really are afraid."

Ian blushes and hides his face against Mickey's chest a moment before pulling back. "When I was little I was playing Explorer and accidentally got locked in a tool shed for most of a day. No one knew I was there, and it was dark and smelled bad, and I just…" He pauses, shrugs, looking at Mickey's collar. He can still smell it, sometimes, that shed, but doesn't say so. "I always figured that's where it came from."

"Hey, I'm not judging," Mickey says, giving Ian's waist a squeeze before stepping away altogether. "I just wasn't sure how bad it was. I'm glad I came over." Mickey smiles and moves to the window.

"Me too," Ian says, watching silently as Mickey starts to pull the curtains closed.

"Is this okay? It'll help keep the warmth in, but if you want the light from the window—"

"No, it's fine," Ian says. "I feel better now that I'm not alone."

Mickey closes it all the way, throwing the room back into darkness. Ian's eyes start to adjust, and then there's a beam of warm light coming from Mickey's direction. "I brought a flashlight."

"You've thought of everything. You're even in your pajamas." Ian sits down on the bed, and Mickey joins him.

"I was already in them, dad and I were watching a movie."

There's an awkward silence, which is kind of weird because it never feels like this between them. Maybe it's the dark and how silent the world around them is.

"Well, there isn't much to do," Ian starts to say.

"We should probably just go to bed," Mickey says, the flashlight beam bouncing as he jiggles his leg.

"Sure." Ian scoots to the end of the bed, unfolding the extra blankets at its foot, and lays them out over the comforter. Who knows how cold it'll get without power. He supposes if it gets too bad they can move to the den and start a fire. He crawls under the blankets and Mickey follows suit, holding the flashlight between them.

"It's like camping," Mickey says, his smiling face shadowed.

"I've never been."

"Yeah? My mom and dad and I went when I was little, and then later just me and my dad," Mickey says, not quite meeting Ian's eyes. "I can't say it's something I'd have much interest in now, though. All the dirt, and peeing behind bushes."

Ian grins, just imagining Mickey in the wilderness. Flannel shirts and constructing tents. Actually, it's kind of a nice mental picture. Sweet. "I wouldn't mind."

"That's because you're such a _boy_."

Something warm unfurls in Ian's chest at Mickey's words. Mickey's eyes are on his again, and Ian nearly gets lost in them, such vibrant blues, even in the dark. He can hardly speak at first. "And you aren't?" he asks, even if he knows what Mickey means.

Mickey stretches like a cat. "I'd prefer a day at the spa."

Ian laughs. "I do know of a girl's sleepover happening right now, they've probably moved on to painting each others nails by candlelight if you'd rather be there."

"There's nowhere I'd rather be," Mickey says, and just like that Ian stomach does another pleasant flip. He knows he shouldn't be taking what Mickey says so seriously, to imagine it having so much meaning behind it, but it's hard not to feel a small flutter when he says things like that.

"What's up with your hair, by the way?" Mickey continues, smirking.

Ian blinks and reaches up, and oh yeah. Certainly his mohawk's gotten a bit messy since Tina styled it, but she used so much gel it feels like there's still some remnant of it left. He groans. "Mercedes was having a party and Tina decided I'd look hot with a mohawk."

Mickey's tongue flicks out to lick the corner of his mouth and he stares at Ian's hair, as though deciding something. "Maybe with those clothes you had on earlier today."

Ian flushes, part embarrassment, part arousal from the look in Mickey's eyes. Which is one hundred percent made up, Ian is sure. It's just dark. Still, his reply is hard to form. "T-that was Santana's idea."

"Do they often use you as their doll?"

"No, they just…wanted to go shopping." It sounds lame even to his ears.

"Were you trying to impress someone?" Mickey asks.

Ian can't move, let alone say anything. Mickey looks so serious, so completely serious, staring right at him like he _knows_. When Ian doesn't reply, Mickey shuts the flashlight off with a click. "We should go to sleep," he says, his voice barely there.

Ian's breathing sounds too loud to his ears. He's afraid to move because of the noise it will make, because he didn't answer Mickey. Is this going to be another chance he's not going to take, not even in the dark where it's so easy to hide?

He lets out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding.

"Yes." It's hardly more than a whisper, and there's a small rustle next to him.

"Hm?"

"I was."

"Who?" comes Mickey's voice out of the darkness. Ian bites into his lower lip, heart drumming an uneven rhythm he swears even Mickey must hear. "Ian?"

Ian swallows around the dryness of his throat. "You."

There isn't an answer at first. "Why? You know that isn't who I am, not really."

Is he being deliberately obtuse, does he really want Ian to spell it out? The spark of frustration is enough to answer with. "I wasn't trying to look tough, I was trying to look _good_."

There's a click and the flashlight is on, but it must be pointing at their feet or something because there's barely enough light to see by. Mickey props himself on his side, looking down at Ian. "For me?"

Everything is too hot, too much, Ian can feel his eyes sting because he never should have opened his big mouth. "I don't know how to make you like me like that," he says in a rush, helpless against keeping the words from spilling from his mouth.

Mickey's eyes are wide in the dark. "I—"

" _Nevermind_ ," Ian cuts him off and starts to sit up, reaching for the flashlight so Mickey can't _see_ , but there's a hand on his chest, and not a second later, lips pressed to his.

The kiss doesn't register at first and there's an awkward moment when Ian almost jerks away, but then he _realizes_. Mickey is _kissing_ him. _Mickey is kissing him._ There's a small noise, something like a sigh or whimper, his eyes fall closed and he kisses back. Mickey's hand tightens in his shirt, but his mouth is so soft on Ian's, and it's like every good feeling Ian has ever had have all come together to fill every part of him. Every sense is heightened; every nerve-ending aware of all the places Mickey is touching him. Especially their mouths. Oh god, Mickey's _mouth_.

Ian can't believe this is happening. Mickey is kissing him so tenderly, their lips touching and sliding against each other gently, the kiss an almost teasing thing. Everything is delicate and Ian can't breathe, can't think anything but _Mickey_.

Mickey's mouth opens over his and he parts his lips in turn, letting Mickey's tongue in, sending a spike of heat down his whole body. His tongue meets Mickey's with a moan, and just like that Mickey is pushing him back, climbing over him, kissing him hard and desperate and Ian reaches up to hold on, saying without words _yes, yes, this is exactly what I want_. It isn't careful anymore, and he can feel Mickey's need like a palpable thing, something in the air, something hot and stifling and perfect. Mickey's hands are in his hair, holding him there to be kissed, tongue insistent and Ian helpless against how amazing it all feels. Never was it like this with any of the girls he dated, not even a little.

Mickey's hand tugs at his hair, it should hurt but it _doesn't_ , and his hips jerk in response. He groans brokenly, his face is hot with embarrassment because he's hard and Mickey is on top of him and he has to feel it.

"Ian," Mickey's voice is nothing but a gasp, his lips brushing against Ian's when he speaks. "Wanted this for so long…"

"What?" Ian says, wonders if he made it up in his head and wants to ask, but Mickey's mouth is on his again and all he can do is moan and kiss him, and god he never wants to stop kissing him. Ian's hands move to Mickey's face, fingers soft against Mickey's skin, smooth like he's always imagined it to be.

Mickey's face turns, kissing Ian's palm, sucking in short breaths through his nostrils. "We should stop."

"Why?" Ian asks, not even trying to hide how terrible an idea that sounds.

"Because." Mickey purposefully shifts, and Ian lets out an involuntary moan because _fuck_ , Mickey is hard. He can feel him against his stomach, and it takes everything within Ian's power not to lock his legs around Mickey and just _keep_ him there.

"Me too," he says, looking up at Mickey in the dim light.

"I know." Mickey climbs off him and Ian would really like to throw propriety to the wind right now.

Mickey stays on his side facing Ian, and they're so close, bodies still mostly touching. Mickey looks completely debauched, cheeks blotchy and pink, hair unruly, and his _mouth_. His mouth is probably the same as ever, but Ian likes to think it looks at least a little swollen, thinks it must feel as tingly and numb and wonderful as Ian's.

Ian slides his hand up Mickey's arm, fingers trailing along his neck, his jaw and cheek. He lightly traces Mickey's lips. Mickey's eyes never leave his, and Ian's face warms under his gaze.

"You like me," Ian says, smiling slowly.

"I like you a _lot_ ," Mickey says, his voice coming out husky, evoking a tiny thrill. Mickey's fingers bury themselves back in Ian's hair, heedless of the dry gel, and bring their faces together for another kiss.

"I like you too," Ian says in a whisper between kisses, "so much."

"How long have you liked me?" Ian has to know, wondering how and when and why.

Mickey tries to hide his face in his pillow, suddenly shy. "Since forever."

"Shut up," Ian laughs. "Seriously, how long?"

Mickey's shoulder gives a little shrug, he's looking down and all Ian can see of his eyes are his beautiful lashes. Everything about him is beautiful. "Since I first saw you, basically."

"You _slushied_ me!"

"I panicked!"

"You're lying," Ian says.

"I'm not, I swear." There is such grave surety in Mickey's voice, even if he does still seem amused. "Look, I had the slushie ready to throw at someone to re-establish my number one asshole status. It was the start of a new school year, I had to make a point. And then you walked up to me and you were so cute that my first instinct was to get away as fast as possible. Except for how it wasn't possible because everyone was _right there_. So…I chose a worse sort of self-protection." Mickey's frowning now, his eyes conveying the level of guilt he must have been carrying around ever since.

Ian has long since gotten over how Mickey initially treated him. Ian knows who he really is, and he doesn't even do those things anymore. It seems like Mickey hasn't fully forgiven himself, though.

"I—actually, that's kind of sweet—" Mickey's _face_. Ian hurries to explain himself. "Not that you _slushied_ me. That you thought I was cute," he says, unable to stop the blush he feels spreading across his cheeks. "I never would have thought you'd…um, find me attractive."

Mickey's mouth opens but nothing comes out at first. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

Ian blinks at the ferocity with which that's said.

"No, I'm serious. Ian, why _wouldn't_ I be?"

" _Because_ ," Ian says, and huffs in frustration when that doesn't seem to be answer enough for Mickey. "You like Vogue models, and that guy at the club? And Finn? I'm short and I like bowties and…" He shrugs a little. "I'm plain. Santana calls me Gallagher."

"You are _anything_ but plain," Mickey says. "Ian, you're _stunning_."

The conviction in Mickey's voice makes Ian's stomach swoop and he looks away because it's too much.

"Ian." Mickey's hands cup his face and he crosses what little distance is left between them. Ian lets the heat of Mickey's mouth replace the heat of embarrassment and worry. "My taste is impeccable. You know that, right?"

Ian's finding it difficult to think at the moment, but the corners of his mouth curl up, an image of Mickey's closet coming to mind. "Yeah."

"Then please believe me when I say—" Mickey kisses him. "—that you are the most—" His cheek. "—exquisite—" His jaw. "—breathtaking—" His neck. Mickey begins to suck until Ian's fingers fist in his shirt, and then he mouths his way up to Ian's ear and whispers in it, "- _sexiest_ boy I have ever laid eyes on."

" _Mickey_." Ian turns his face until his mouth connects with Mickey's, until they're kissing and Mickey's beginning to lose the taste in his mouth because now they just taste like each other. He's the one to tip Mickey back, this time, moving half on top of him, reaching under his shirt with one hand, dragging it along warm skin, trembling from how good it feels to touch, from how much more he _wants_ to touch.

"You're beautiful, Mickey," he says, breathing erratic and voice rough with feeling. " _You're_ beautiful." His fingers stroke up Mickey's side, over his ribs to his chest. He finds Mickey's nipple with his finger and gives an experimental rub. Mickey keens, hips jerking up, and Ian can feel he's hard again, or still, or.

Ian has done some research since he realized he was gay. He found some websites. He found some _videos_. Connecting the things he's read and seen with what they're doing now, with Mickey at _all_ , is a surreal concept because this is _right now_ and Mickey's body is warm and pliant under his hands and the men in those videos did not seem at all like people. They were people-shaped, sure, but they were _men_ and they knew exactly what they were doing. They could bend in ways Ian never would imagine possible. In theory, he and Mickey could do all those things. In theory.

"Shouldn't we—shouldn't we slow down, date first, or something?" Mickey's panting shallowly, clutching at Ian, leaning up to kiss him before he can even reply.

" _Mmm_ …" Ian can _not_ resist his mouth, but manages to mumble. "We just went to a movie last week."

"You didn't even hold my hand," Mickey says, and bites at Ian's jaw.

"'Cause you made me buy my own popcorn," Ian says. He rubs his thumb over Mickey's nipple again, teases it, pinches it, can't get enough of the sounds Mickey's making because of _him_.

There is no witty comeback, just, " _Ian_ ," and cursing, and Mickey's hands move from Ian's back to his ass and squeeze. Ian hisses and drops his head, crashing their mouths together. Mickey's hips buck, rutting against him, and Ian can feel _everything_ through the thin layers of their pajama pants. Ian coaxes Mickey's tongue into his mouth, starts sucking at it like it's something else, sucking in time with the thrusts of his own hips. Mickey is moaning so loudly, or maybe he is, maybe both of them, Ian doesn't know because he's mindless from the friction, he can feel the pressure building, making his toes curl.

Mickey tears his mouth away with a gasp and he's _shaking_. He moans Ian's name and his hips move erratically and suddenly he's coming. Ian can feel Mickey _coming_. Mickey's head is thrown back, the pale stretch of his neck taunt and eyes squeezed closed, fingers digging into Ian's ass to hold him there, hips flush, and _jesus holy fucking shit_ this is the hottest thing Ian has ever, _ever_ seen.

Mickey's eyes open and he lets out this whimper and Ian isn't even aware one of Mickey's hands has left his ass until he feels it cupping him. " _Mickey_. Oh my god, _Mickey_." Ian makes some kind of probably embarrassing noise and Mickey manages to stroke him over his pajamas once, twice, three times and he loses it, coming harder than he even thought possible.

"Oh my god, oh my god," he keeps saying, all but collapsing on top of Mickey when there's nothing left in him. Mickey's kissing his face and his hand hasn't moved, is just holding him, possessive, while Ian tries to remember how to _breathe_.

Ian turns on his side, flush against Mickey without being on top of him, and Mickey's still kissing any bit of skin he can so reverently that Ian almost wants to cry. That felt better than anything he ever imagined. It felt _right_. There have been times since he realized he was gay where he has questioned it, only because before Mickey he couldn't remember feeling attracted to any guys, and there was this tiny shred of doubt. He'd wonder if he would really want the exact thing that just happened. Now that doubt seems so astonishingly ridiculous that Ian knows it was nothing but fear of the unknown. How could anything to do with this amazing boy in his arms be wrong?

Mickey's mouth stills and they lay quietly nose to nose, breathing and heartbeats slowing.

"I'm sweaty," Ian realizes. This gets a laugh out of Mickey, and Ian tilts his head back enough that he can see him, smiling.

"Is that all?" Mickey's hand gives a gentle squeeze.

"Hey—okay, sticky, too."

" _Nasty_." Mickey's teases, looks so smug and pleased with himself it just makes Ian love him even more.

"All because of you." Ian waggles his eyebrows and gets Mickey to laugh again.

"Dibs on the bathroom," Mickey says, and rolls out of Ian's reach and off the bed, taking the flashlight with him.

Ian isn't scared, though, and scoots up and out from under the sheets, smiling. Mickey leaves the bathroom door open a crack so the room isn't left in total darkness. Ian lays back in bed, eyelids heavy, his orgasm leaving him sated and sleepy.

He slips into sleep and doesn't even realize it until he's woken up by Mickey however much later, hair damp and messy, wearing a pair of his pajama pants. Mickey is leaning over him, kissing along his jaw. "Your turn," he says.

Ian leans up for a brief kiss before climbing out of bed. His shower is quick, he has no intention of leaving Mickey alone any longer than is absolutely necessary.

Mickey's awake, smiling up at him as he returns in clean pajamas with the flashlight. "You took way too long," Mickey says. There's a stilted moment of uncertainty when he slides back into bed where neither of them move, and it hits Ian how new this is. He shifts closer and just like that it's gone, melts away like their bodies into each other. Mickey tucks Ian against his chest and nuzzles the back of Ian's neck, sending a pleasant shiver along his skin.

"Did you just make me the little spoon?" Ian asks.

Mickey scoffs. "You're shorter, it's the rule."

"Where did you see that, the spooning handbook?"

"Mmhm, says you have to bottom, too."

Ian barks out a laugh. "Shut _up_ , that is not how that works!"

"Are you _opposed_ to bottoming?" Mickey says with his mouth on Ian's ear.

Ian's dick twitches and holy god he had no idea about this side of Mickey. "God no," he says, and it comes out breathy and Mickey is making this _gloating_ sound which somehow manages to sound really sexy and…crap. He needs to shut this down now if he doesn't want to try sleeping through a hard-on. "No more talking."

Ian can practically feel the smugness radiating from Mickey in waves. "Yes, sir."

Oh wait, no. That's Mickey's hand… _there_.

"Mickey!"

"What?"

"Be good! It's like three in the morning!"

"My dream just came true and you expect me to sleep?"

Ian blushes, his stomach giving yet another familiar swoop. "Yes I do," he says, keeps his voice light but squeezes Mickey's hand.

Mickey kisses his still-damp hair. "Fine, fine."

"Good night, Mickey," Ian whispers.

"Good night, Ian."

It's a minute or so before his heart calms down and exhaustion catches up with him. He's asleep before he knows it, warm and happy in Mickey's arms.

ooo

Ian wakes up first. At some point during the night, two things happened; one, the power came back, as his bedside lamp is on. Two, he moved, and now he's lying on his side facing Mickey, which is perfectly fine with him, because what a nice sight to wake up to. Mickey's sleeping so peacefully. His features look especially delicate, the point of his nose, the fan of his eyelashes, the pink of his lips, parted just so. His hair is tousled and fine, messy from drying as he slept, devoid of hairspray and Mickey's almost obsessive styling.

Ian can't help himself from running his fingers through it, combing it back. Mickey murmurs something nonsensical and stirs, eyes slowly blinking open. Mickey's face lights up with a smile and Ian's heart skips a beat. He almost looks away, not yet used to being able to just _look_ at Mickey because he wants to. He feels a rush of emotion at waking up next to Mickey like this, at _having_ this.

 _My dream just came true._

"Morning," Mickey says, trying to snuggle closer.

Ian wraps an arm around Mickey and kisses his temple, his soft hair, wondering how this can even be real. He never imagined he could be this happy. "Morning."

They stay in bed together until their bladders demand otherwise. It's cold without Mickey in his arms, and he wonders if it's unusual to need to touch someone as badly as he wants to be touching Mickey. Just a wrist or an elbow, it doesn't matter, being without Mickey suddenly seems impossible.

Teeth brushed, pajamas still on, they grab some cereal and sit together on the couch with Lord and Lady Gaga to watch Saturday morning cartoons. Well, more like Saturday _afternoon_ cartoons. Mickey's arm is around his waist, cereal bowl precariously balanced on a pillow in his lap, and Ian is fairly sure he's never been more content than he is in this moment.

"Your taste in television programs is abhorrent," Mickey says at one point.

"Says the boy who's obsessed with Gray's Anatomy."

"Hey! That's quality programming. Ratings don't lie."

Ian pretends to look thoughtful. "And the general population _is_ …"

"Hmph."

And then there's milk flicked at Ian's _arm_ , and then there's wrestling, and then they're making out on the couch, cereal and TV forgotten.

They make out most of the afternoon in between far less exciting things, like letting the dogs out to pee, answering the door after really incessant knocking (Jehovah's Witnesses, and _that_ had been interesting), a phone call to check in from Mickey's dad, and a late lunch. Making out is really amazingly awesome, Ian discovers, and he can't seem to get enough of Mickey's mouth.

They don't get as far as the previous night, at least not until late in the day when Ian insists on seeing Mickey's chest. Maybe his chest shouldn't be such a big deal, guys are allowed to wander around shirtless, they've both been in the locker room after gym at the same time (though Ian never let himself _really_ look, not with so many other boys around). But now he _needs_ to. Mickey's always in so many layers, even when he's just wearing a regular shirt at school, the weather has been so cold that there's always a sweatshirt or a hoodie over it. But now...

Ian is straddling Mickey, who's laying back against the couch all worked up and flushed pink. Ian begins to unbutton Mickey's pajama top, fingers moving excruciatingly slow, and Mickey makes a frustrated sound.

"God, Ian, what—"

"Shh."

"Are you going to draw me like one of your French girls?" Mickey asks.

"Shh," Ian says, trailing his fingers up the bared sliver of skin after each undone button.

"—It's not like I'm hiding a fantastic rack under here—"

"Shh."

"—You've already felt me up anyway—"

"Shh…"

Ian just likes to explore, and if he wants to make a big deal out of it, he will. When he gets to the top button and looks down into Mickey's eyes he's rewarded with the sight of widened pupils and heavy breathing, and _this_ is why dragging it out is worth it.

He pushes the shirt open, helps Mickey free his arms, and just _looks_. Mickey's chest is mostly hairless, lean and pale, curving into a slender waist. His nipples are a perfect brown-pink.

"Are you just gonna _look_?" Mickey asks, hips shifting, and Ian knows he wants more. Neither of them have taken it to that point yet and it's been hours of sporadic make-out sessions.

"Maybe," Ian says, and grinds down a little.

"Oh fuck me _please_ …"

"Listen to that mouth of yours." Ian's palms skate up Mickey's sides, fingers mapping a path from stomach to chest, avoiding his nipples except for brief, teasing sweeps. Mickey's skin is so _soft_.

"Can't help it," Mickey says, hands curling behind his head. "You're a bad influence."

"I never taught you these things." Ian bends to kiss along Mickey's chest, hands pressing down on his shoulders.

Mickey sucks in a breath. "I blame television and video games, then."

"What happened to innocent, romantic Mickey Milkovich?"

Mickey's hands grip Ian's hair and _pull_ and Ian lets out a throaty moan. "I have this incredibly hot, tease of a boyfriend who won't let me get off."

Ian's fingers tighten their hold on Mickey and he swirls his tongue around a nipple, moaning against his skin.

"Ohgod _what_ …Ian…"

Ian looks up, stops licking. "Mm?"

"N-nothing…"

Ian resumes what he was doing, moves to the other nipple after a moment and does the same. "Feel good?" he asks, scraping his teeth along the sensitive skin.

Mickey keeps moving restlessly under him. "Yeah, just…god, is this normal?"

"Dunno," Ian says, and starts to suck. That _really_ gets his hair pulled, so he sucks harder.

Mickey cries out and jerks his hips, humping up against Ian. "No," Ian whispers. Mickey isn't allowed to get off yet. Breathless, Ian raises up and crawls down Mickey's body, tugging his pants past his hips and out of the way. Mickey's legs are covered with fine, light hair, and Ian drags his hands up his thighs. A hum of appreciation. He slips his hand beneath Mickey's boxer briefs, eliciting a startled sound and Ian's name repeated in a hushed, needy voice. Mickey's cock is warm and sticky with pre-come and impossibly hard, but the skin is soft. It doesn't feel like when he touches himself, not really. Ian moves his hand along Mickey's cock with feather-light, experimental touches, watching Mickey for a sign that this is too much. Mickey looks so blissed out, Ian can't tell.

"Is this okay?" he whispers.

" _Please_ ," Mickey whimpers, eyebrows drawn up.

" _Mickey_." Ian lets go to lick his hand, spits on it, gets it as wet as he can and Mickey watches, squirms and waits. Ian recovers his grip and moves his hand up, down, finds a rhythm and strokes. Mickey is anxious beneath him, covers his eyes with a hand. Ian moves Mickey's hand away by his wrist, holds it down beside his head. "I want to see your face when you come."

Mickey cries out, this helpless sound, and does just that, right then, and god if that isn't the hottest thing _ever_. He watches Mickey's eyes unfocus as the orgasm takes hold, watches his mouth work around a moan. His hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes dark.

"And you said _I_ had a mouth," Mickey says, still breathing hard.

"I don't know what's come over me," Ian says, and he doesn't. He feels mindless with need now that he has Mickey here with him like this.

"It's me," Mickey says, pressing Ian back into the couch. "I inspire dirty talk and even dirtier handjobs."

Ian grins at Mickey, but it's like looking through a haze. All he can feel is how hard he is, he _aches_. "Please?"

"Oh, your turn to beg, is it?" Mickey says, pulling Ian's shirt up and off, tossing it to points unknown. He runs his fingers through the hair on Ian's chest, and Ian can't even muster up a twinge of self-consciousness because he _needs_. "Now it's _my_ turn to lick at you in naughty places and drive you mad."

" _Mickey_ …"

He's so close already, he will never last.

But Mickey's head is already bent, and Ian suspects the sudden blush along his cheeks is out of shyness or nervousness and not some post-jerkoff bliss, because when he reaches one of Ian's nipples only the tip of his tongue delves out. This tiny little kitten lick, and Ian _can't_. He gasps and jerks and _comes_ , untouched.

Mickey sits up in shock. "What just happened?"

Ian groans helplessly and cups himself over his pants, too busy trying to remember how to breathe to answer.

"Oh my god! I didn't even get to touch you!"

Mickey looks so _affronted_ Ian almost wants to laugh, but can't. "I was too worked up."

"Ian Gallgher, we are going to have to work on your stamina."

"You're hot when you're all disapproving," Ian says. Mickey tries to look stern, but Ian knows better and pulls him down to kiss his bitchface away.

ooo

It isn't much later when Burt calls again, inviting them both over for dinner. _Apparently he thinks two teenage boys can't feed themselves_ , Mickey tells Ian, and then says he suspects it's the other way around. Mickey suggests that Ian bring the dogs and himself over to stay the night, and Ian really can't pass that up.

As they get out of Mickey's truck, Ian wrangles the dogs with one hand and takes Mickey's hand with the other. Mickey's hand jerks away and he meets Ian's gaze with a look of surprise. "My dad will see—"

"So?"

" _So_."

"But—he _knows_ , so what's the problem?"

Mickey looks like he's choking on something for a moment. "He knows that we're _gay_ , but he doesn't know we're…um…"

Ian frowns, trying and failing not to feel a pang of disappointment. "What, Mickey? You can't even say it to me?"

" _No_ ," Mickey says. His voice softens, something shy once more creeping in. "That you're my boyfriend."

Ian feels like a bit of an ass having reacted like that, and can't help but smile to be called Mickey's boyfriend officially. He feels _elated_. "Sorry, this is new to me, too."

"I know. I know honesty is important to you, I do, but I'd rather we don't tell my dad about this after we just came back from spending a night alone together, because I don't know how he'll react, and I'd prefer him not pulling a shotgun out on you or giving us a sex talk. _Especially_ that second one—"

"Rude _._ "

Mickey grins impishly. "I'll tell him, I swear, but how about Sunday night when you aren't there?"

"Yeah, no, that's fine," Ian says. "I'm fine to wait until you're ready. We did just kind of jump into everything."

Mickey looks embarrassed. "We did, didn't we? Usually couples date first."

"You and this _dating_. I promise to take you out in all the elegance you deserve just as soon as I get the chance," Ian says, making Mickey smile so wide. "We're friends, though, so it isn't like we don't know each other, and I've just—god, I _dream_ of you, Mickey."

Mickey's eyes go dark, and Ian can't even finish his statement, didn't even mean to say it in the first place, not like that, but seriously, how had they even kept apart this long to begin with?

"Me too." Mickey looks like he wants to say more, and Ian waits. Hums a question mark, urging him to continue. "You know, I've always been kind of…" His lips purse in thought. "Uncomfortable about intimacy."

Ian's mouth opens. And closes. And opens again. "Maybe we should talk about this later? In your room, or…just not in your front yard?"

"Yeah. Sure, actually." Mickey laughs a little. "Ugh. Come on, let's go."

Dinner goes smoothly. There's no reason it shouldn't, of course, but there is some small worry in the back of Ian's mind that one of them will slip up, or that it will just show on their faces and Burt will know. Not that it'd be the end of the world or anything, but he does understand Mickey's concern, and he'd rather not make things completely awkward when the day has been going so well. In fact, he'd still be floating on cloud nine if it wasn't for Mickey's earlier admittance.

In bed that night, Ian is spooning Mickey from behind, sensing some undercurrent of vulnerability that makes him want to be the one doing the holding.

"You said, earlier," Ian starts to whisper, like he can't raise his voice any higher in the still dark.

"Yeah," Mickey says, just as quiet. He doesn't continue right away, and Ian waits.

"I guess it's more the idea of intimacy than anything else. Growing up confused, and feeling like—god, if I even touched a guy it was— I had to be careful. It didn't feel okay, because then they'd _know_ , and if they knew they'd be disgusted. Other than the two times I'd gone to that club, the time you picked me up and once before I met you, I'd been drinking and it was just." There's a small pause. "Kissing and dancing, you know? I was so drunk I couldn't even remember what it felt like the next day. I knew I'd done it, just not what it was _like_ , except that I felt so stupid after."

Ian kisses Mickey's shoulder and doesn't say anything at first. He can't imagine what it would be like, growing up and feeling the need to have to hide something so huge about yourself. Or worse, to think of yourself disgusting, that other people would be disgusted by you. Mickey must have been so _lonely_. Ian's presses into the back of Mickey's neck. He can't get close enough.

"I didn't cross any lines, did I?" he asks, says it in a rush because that's what's had him uneasy all night. The idea that he may have done something Mickey hadn't wanted.

"No, no," Mickey says firmly. "I would have stopped you. When it comes to you, it's like. All these ideas I had? The things that scared me? Go away when you touch me." Mickey's hand finds Ian's and winds around it. "Like they never existed at all."

"I'd never hurt you," Ian whispers.

"I know. Ian, you're more than I could ever ask for."

Ian doesn't know how to respond to that, just tightens his arms around Mickey and holds on.

ooo

Mickey calls on Sunday night as promised.

"Well, I told my dad," is how Mickey starts the conversation, and then just _stops_ like that's all Ian wants to know.

" _And_?" Ian prompts.

"He's happy—"

It's all Mickey needs to say to send the anxiety that had been coiling up in Ian's stomach away. He isn't sure he could take Burt not accepting their relationship. Aside from the fact that Burt means a lot to him, he _knows_ telling his own parents is a terrible idea, and he's sure Mickey doesn't want anyone at school to know.

"—And he said he could tell I liked you right away, which was embarrassing."

"Oh my god," Ian says, but he's grinning, can't _stop_ grinning. "I guess I was the only one who didn't realize."

Mickey sighs. "Oblivious boyfriend is oblivious."

Ian's chest tightens, he goes warm all over. "Yeah, well, all that matters is that we're together now, right?" he says, lying back on his bed, staring up at his ceiling with a big smile on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, it's really amazing, actually," Mickey says over the line, and Ian can hear the sincerity in his voice.

"It is," Ian says softly, and turns his body so he can hug a pillow. If that makes him a dork, at least there's no one here to see it. "So, is your dad going to give us a talk?"

Mickey snickers. "I don't know. I _hope_ not. Just keep up that innocent schoolboy thing and maybe he'll leave us alone."

" _Innocent schoolboy thing_?"

"You are unusually well-mannered, charming, and sweet for a seventeen year old boy. You are every parent's dream, you know. Did you meet Rachel's parents before homecoming? I bet they nearly crapped themselves in happiness that it was you taking their daughter out and not some hooligan."

"Oh my god, Mickey," Ian says, openly laughing. "Did you just say _hooligan_ —look, it's not a thing, I just…"

"You want people to like you, I know."

Ian blushes from embarrassment, glad Mickey can't see it, and looks down at his bedspread.

"I get it, Ian, it's not a bad thing," Mickey continues. "I was just teasing you. I'm sorry."

His voice comes out quiet. "You don't have to apologize."

There's a long moment where neither of them say anything. "I pissed you off, I'm sorry—"

"I'm not," Ian starts to say, but Mickey cuts him off again.

"—It's just, your parents—"

"I don't want to talk about them," Ian says, cutting Mickey off this time.

"Okay. Okay, sorry."

"Stop…stop saying you're _sorry_." Ian sighs and presses his forehead into his pillow. "I just. I don't want you to think I'm not genuine."

"I _don't_ , Ian. I don't think there's anything you do that doesn't come straight from your heart," Mickey says.

There's another stretch of silence, and Ian finally says, "Got you to like me, anyway."

Mickey laughs, sort of a soft, breathy sound. "You're pretty irresistible."

They talk for over an hour and then spend another thirty minutes trying to hang up, and Ian goes to bed smiling. He is someone's _boyfriend_ , and even has parental approval. Can it even get any better than this?


	13. Chapter 13

Ian walks into school feeling lighter than he has since his transfer. Suddenly the giant Dalton-shaped hole in his heart is just that much smaller. He knows if his mom told him tomorrow he could transfer back and board at his old school, he would say no. No matter how hard it is at McKinley, no matter how many shoves or slushies, he has Mickey, and that will get him through it.

His smile disappears when he turns the corner and sees a familiar, hulking form down the hallway. With everything that had happened he'd forgotten about Karofsky coming back. He hadn't been thinking about it at all, and seeing him here all of a sudden startles Ian enough that he almost drops his books.

He doesn't even think, just turns around and walks until he reaches the boys restroom. He locks himself in the handicapped stall and looks down, realizing his hands are shaking. He pulls out his cell phone and texts Mickey, _cut homerm. meet me in the boys bathrm by rm 20_ , and waits, trying to calm down.

Several minutes pass before Ian hears the door open. Ian looks under the stall door gap, recognizes Mickey's boots, and pushes open the door. "Mickey…"

Mickey looks at him in concern and Ian takes his sleeve, pulling him into the stall and locking the door behind them. "Ian?" Mickey asks, and Ian cuts him off with a kiss. Mickey doesn't even hesitate to kiss back, and Ian loves him for it, kisses him until his lips feel numb and his hands stop trembling.

"Oh my," Mickey says with a surprised, flirty smile when Ian pulls back, "what was that for?"

Ian smiles bashfully and looks down. "Because I can?"

The restroom door opens once more and they fall quiet, Mickey's eyes going wide. Ian just drags him close, whispers against his ear. "No one's gonna see us."

Mickey whispers back. "Kind of suspicious, two pairs of feet and all."

"No one will look," Ian says, and kisses Mickey's earlobe, nibbles and licks until he has Mickey squirming. He's just about to casually slide his hands down to Mickey's ass, when there is the clear sound of someone peeing in a nearby stall. He shares a look of alarm with Mickey before hiding his face in the side of Mickey's neck to keep from laughing too loudly.

"What a mood killer," Mickey whispers, still giggling.

"What, the restroom doesn't have enough romantic ambiance for you? God, you're so high maintenance."

Whoever it is leaves, and they break apart, grinning. Ian's smile dims, though, when Mickey starts to lean back in. "Um, there was actually another reason I asked you to come."

"Oh?"

Ian lets out a breath. "I saw Karofsky."

Mickey doesn't look surprised, but Ian can tell by the way his mouth tightens in a frown that Karofsky hadn't been on his mind, either. "If he touches you, text me."

"Mickey, you can't—"

"I just want you to tell me, okay?"

Ian is reluctant to agree, not wanting Mickey to get in the middle of it.

" _Ian_."

" _Okay_ , I'll text you," Ian says.

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

Mickey smiles a little, taking Ian up on his offer and locking pinkies. "It'll be okay, Ian. He's already on thin ice, if he tries anything I'll go to the school board myself."

"Oh god, I actually think you would," Ian says.

"I only speak the truth," Mickey says, and Ian rolls his eyes, thinking back to their movie marathon yesterday afternoon. Moulin Rouge had been Mickey's choice, but it was Ian who'd cried like a baby at the end.

"You know," Ian says, "there's still five minutes 'til first period."

Mickey grins wickedly, and Ian wipes it right off his face with a kiss.

ooo

Ian sees Karofsky a few times throughout the week, but Karofsky never comes near him. Karofsky _looks_ , and that's unnerving enough because Ian can see the threat in his eyes, a dark promise for more, but he doesn't try anything. Yet.

And then there's Mickey. Mickey sitting near him in class and texting him and always, always at the forefront of Ian's mind. They sneak out at lunch, go to Ian's car, parked as far back in the lot as possible. It's December and cold out, unwelcomingly frigid just as soon as you step out the door, but they have each other. They don't need to turn on the car and run the heater when they spread out along the backseat, warming each other with kisses and hands stuffed under each other's coats and shirts.

Ian's friends start to ask where he is all the time, what's got him so happy when he stares off at nothing, smiling. He says he has a project in French he's working on, knowing none of them can question the validity of his lie because none of them take French. As for the second part, he evades, says it's nothing, they're crazy. He's the same as ever.

But Ian feels like he's on pins and needles, his emotions swinging all over the place between Karofsky and Mickey and the upcoming Sectionals competition. By the end of the week he's so anxious about Sectionals that it's almost a blessing to have Mickey to focus on.

"You'll be there, right?" Ian asks Mickey Friday night.

Mickey stares at him. "Ian, you seriously need to ask?"

"I don't know, I kind of feel like I'm going out of my mind. What if I forget the lyrics? What if I bump into someone while I'm dancing? What if we lose?" Ian throws his hands up. "What if the _Warblers_ lose? I don't know which would make me feel worse—"

"Ian, relax," Mickey says, taking his hands to still them. "Who used to lead the Warblers, hm?"

"I didn't exactly _lead_ , there was a council—"

"You were their main soloist, correct?"

"I was their main soloist, yes."

Mickey's hands cup his face, looks him right in the eyes. "See? You know what you're doing. You've done this before. I'll be there, front row, and I know you'll be amazing."

Ian smiles, finally, feeling as reassured as possible. He leans in to kiss Mickey on the cheek and stays there. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Masturbate a lot more, probably," Mickey teases.

Ian bursts out laughing. "You're evil."

Mickey just hums quietly in response and kisses him good night. Mickey's lips are deliciously soft and Ian lingers, he _really_ doesn't want to leave. It's Mickey who has to usher him out, promising, "Tomorrow, tomorrow. I can't wait to see you."

ooo

Ian is waiting for his toast when his father walks into the kitchen. He's wearing a suit and tie, impeccably dressed and groomed.

"It's just Sectionals, Dad, you didn't have to get that dressed up," Ian says with a tiny smile, secretly pleased that his father would go to such effort.

His father's expression is one of obvious confusion, before it smooths out into something more dismissive. "Oh. I'm afraid I have to meet with a client today, I won't be able to come to your singing show."

His mother, it turns out, has a migraine and can't come either.

Ian would like to be able to say he's surprised, but the truth is, his parents have missed more competitions and performances than they've ever attended, and things around the house have been so tense and uneasy since he came out that he should have expected it. Still, there was a part of him, some stupid, foolish part, that had _hoped_. It's his first competition with New Directions and he really thought this time would be different. He _wanted_ it to be different, and tries not to feel the crush of disappointment that it isn't.

If there's ever a moment he feels like he shines, it's when he's on stage. If his parents could just see that, if they could just _understand_ , maybe they would realize he is not a disappointment. Maybe they would see that he's going to be something great, someday. At least, he hopes so.

ooo

They get to the auditorium where Sectionals are being held a little late, so when they do arrive, they're sent straight off to their school's waiting room, which means no checking the crowd for Mickey and no meet-up with the Warblers. They get ready and practice, and finally they get the news that they'll be going last.

They're sent out into the auditorium to a block of designated seats to watch the other teams perform, and Ian nearly trips over Rachel, because instead of watching where he's walking he's looking for Mickey in the crowd. He finds Mickey, not first row, but third row center, sitting next to Burt, and Ian's whole face lights up. He waves, not caring who sees. He _came_ , and he brought his dad. Burt actually wanted to come to something that his own kid wasn't even a part of. There is a mix of love and bitterness, but whatever he's feeling because of his parents disappears the moment the lights go dark. The Warblers are set to go on first, and Ian sits up in his seat, staring eagerly at the stage.

None of his friends at Dalton would tell him what songs they were doing, or even who was singing lead. They teased him about being a spy and made up ridiculous answers, like, Jeff is singing Closer by Nine Inch Nails, which immediately made Jeff blush five different shades of red. Or, they're doing He Had It Coming from Chicago, or Lady Marmalade from Moulin Rouge. But it's Nick who steps out of formation, singing lead on a beautifully arranged acapella rendition of Uptown Girl, and Ian's heart swells with pride for his friend. They follow with two more Billy Joel songs; Only The Good Die Young, and The River Of Dreams. When they finish, Ian is the first one out of his seat, cheering. He jumps up and down, waving, trying to get their attention. Trent sees him first and tries to get some of the others to look over, and they're laughing and wave to him on their way off the stage. Wes would have killed them for acting so unprofessional, and the thought just makes Ian smile all the wider.

The second group barely registers through the swirl of nostalgia and the sharp contrast of anxiety. Before he knows it, it's their turn. He and Rachel are singing a duet of Coldplay's Paradise, and she has the first stanza. Her voice rings out clear and true, and Ian watches as she comes alive in a way he's never seen before, not even in glee club. She's amazing, and he can't imagine the crowd being anything less than captivated.

He joins her during _para-para-paradise_ , and then it's him alone.

" _When_ _she was just a girl, she expected the world_ ," he sings, looking out into the audience, finding a familiar face among the rest. " _But it flew away from her reach_." He extends a hand. " _And the bullets catch in her teeth_."

Mickey is _smiling_ at him.

Rachel joins him, " _Life_ _goes on, it gets so heavy, the wheel breaks the butterfly_." He looks to her, their voices harmonizing, filling the room. " _Every tear, a waterfall. In the night, the stormy night, she closes her eyes. In the night, the stormy night, away she flied…_ "

Ian finds Mickey again, and the voices of New Directions jump in. When the song ends, it leads into Yellow. There isn't much dancing involved, so Ian has the opportunity to watch Mickey, singing to him, letting him know with his eyes and his voice, _this is for you. This is how I feel when I'm with you_.

They finish with Viva La Vida and inspire a standing ovation. It went perfectly. _Perfectly_. As they file back into their waiting room Ian is still breathing hard, sweating lightly, so pumped with adrenaline and feeling like he could do anything. The members of New Directions are talking excitedly, all of them feeling like they have a good chance of winning. Ian's pocket vibrates with a text from Mickey.

 **Mickey:** You were amazing. Can I come see you?

Ian grins widely as he texts back, ' _meet me back here after judging, i want you to meet the warblers. that ok?_ '

 **Mickey:** See you then!

They wait for what seems like an eternity before they're called back on stage. The judge talks briefly about the sanctity of music or _something_ , before announcing the third place winner. It isn't New Directions or the Warblers, and Ian can't help but look over to his old group.

When they announce the winner it's _New Directions_ and Ian is swept up into the moment, his teammates crashing into each other with squeals and hugs and cheering. Ian's heart soars. There isn't room for anything but joy in that moment, and Ian soaks it up, swears to remember it forever.

Ian spots Mickey waiting for him near an exit door as New Directions file off stage. He hurries over and wraps Mickey into a tight hug.

"You _came_ ," he says against Mickey's temple.

"You keep acting surprised. Am I really such a bad boyfriend?" Mickey asks, pulling back with a wide smile.

Ian feels inexplicably choked up. "No. No, never."

"You really shined out there, Ian." Mickey moves his hands from behind his back, producing a small bouquet of red roses. "These are for you."

"Mickey…" Ian looks at Mickey and the bouquet in awe. He's never gotten flowers before, would never have even thought he'd want them, but his chest _aches_ with emotion and he takes them so carefully, like anything but a delicate touch and they'll cease to be real. "Thank you."

Mickey cups a hand behind Ian's neck and brings him closer, kissing him softly and lovingly, and every worry and bit of heartache that had been lingering melts away. Ian pulls back only when it becomes a little too good, and smiles breathlessly up at Mickey. "Come on, I want you to meet my friends before they leave."

He takes Mickey's hand, the bouquet tight in the other, and leads him toward the Warblers' waiting room.

It was not so very long ago that Ian had worried about how to come out to his friends at Dalton. In the end he'd chosen the lamest - albeit easiest - route, and changed his status on facebook from _interested in women_ to _interested in men_. This was met with an outpouring of supportive and gently teasing comments, and a Skype call from a few of them to call him out on not telling them personally.

Ian doesn't know what to expect when he introduces them to his _boyfriend_ , but he doesn't have a lot of time to be nervous. As soon as he steps into the doorway, every head turns toward him, and then it's just madness as he's enveloped in a giant, raucous group hug. He loses Mickey's hand, and thank god Mickey had the presence of mind to take the bouquet from him, because he's being crushed.

"Oh my god, oh my god, stop, I can't breathe," he's saying, laughing and trying to hug everyone. Eventually the crowd of boys back off, laughing and talking and welcoming him "back."

Nick has an arm around his shoulders. "They stole our star from us, no wonder we lost!"

Ian's face is ablaze and he shakes his head, face tipped down. "You were awesome, Nick. You guys blew me away."

There's a lot of excited chatter directed at him, but Ian takes a step back and looks for Mickey, still standing there silently in the doorway. "Hey guys, I wanted to, uh, introduce you." He takes Mickey's hand and tugs him forward to stand by his side, smiling proudly. Mickey looks slightly terrified, but Ian _knows_ his friends and his heart swells up to be able to share this with them. "This is my boyfriend, Mickey."

Mickey's shy little _hi_ is lost in an eruption of _ohhhh!_ 's and catcalls and teasing and lewd and congratulatory comments. Warblers are patting him on the back and shoving at each other to shake Mickey's hand, and both he and Mickey are blushing, but it's a positive reaction and Ian knows Mickey needs this. Mickey needs to see that not everything is going to be homophobia and hate. And maybe he needs it, too.

They talk to the Warblers for just a little while longer before Ian gets a text from Rachel asking where he is. He bids a sad farewell, and there's more hugging and _congratulations on being the cutest couple ever_ and _congratulations on getting some_ and _congratulations on winning_. The Warblers sing them out _oh goodbye, my love, I'm gonna cry, my love_ and Ian and Mickey are both laughing when they leave the room.

"I can't believe it. An entire room of boys and no one so much as gave us a dirty look," Mickey says.

"They're awesome. Some people are just awesome," Ian says, and takes the bouquet back from Mickey before he leaves. "Call me later?"

" _Come over_ later," Mickey says with a wink, and gives him a quick kiss before sending him on his way.

When he rejoins New Directions he totally gets the side-eye about his flowers.

"They're from the Warblers," Ian says, giving the first excuse that comes to mind.

Santana snatches a small card from the bouquet that Ian hadn't even noticed was there. " _To the brightest star in my sky_ ," she reads. There's a moment of silence and Ian is mortified, but then she cackles, "Gay!" and Rachel is yelling at her and someone makes a Gargler joke and Ian grabs the card back from her, cheeks hot.

"It probably just came with the bouquet," he says, but no one's really listening anymore anyway.

The bus ride back to Lima is much more exciting than the trip to Sectionals had been, and Ian gets caught up in it.

Moving from Westerville and leaving Dalton had been heartbreaking for him. He'd been miserable for the weeks leading up to their move, and even more so when they'd actually gotten to Lima. It took him a long time to feel like he really fit in, like he had a place here and he belonged. But looking around this bus, hearing the teasing and the in-jokes and the impromptu singing. The card and the flowers. He has never felt so much at home.

ooo

Mickey is sitting on the floor with his back against the edge of the bed, math book open and pencil poised. He's been working on equations for the last twenty minutes, and before that, science vocab. Ian is done with his homework and slowly spinning circles in Mickey's computer chair.

"So," Ian says.

"So," Mickey echoes, eyes on his paper.

"You know, the winter dance is coming up," Ian starts to say. Mickey looks up, blue eyes wide. "Rachel asked me to go with her . As friends, of course. I said I didn't know. I wanted to ask you first."

"Oh." Mickey glances down a moment before looking back to him. "Of course. I mean, whatever. If you want to go." He shrugs.

"I guess. I just felt bad, she really wants to go and doesn't have a date. And it's not like _we_ can go together."

"No, of course not," Mickey says, his words clipped and attention back on his assignment.

Ian stares down at Mickey, trying to figure out his reaction. "You're mad," he finally says, a statement more than a question.

Mickey just snorts.

"Mickey, I can _tell_ when—"

"I'm not mad, Ian, I swear," Mickey says, looking up, irritation plain on his face.

"Look, it's not like I'm going to fall in love with Rachel Berry because I go to a dance with her."

Mickey snorts out a short laugh. "Did I say I thought that would happen?" he asks, and there's something in the way he says it that Ian doesn't like.

"Then _enlighten me_ , what's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_ is that I'm trying to finish my _homework_ and you keep twirling around in that chair and going on about this dance like I _care_ and it's really getting on my last nerve," Mickey snaps.

Ian goes cold all over and stands up. " _Fine_. Excuse me for thinking you'd care about something involving me."

He walks out. He doesn't even give Mickey a chance to say anything, he doesn't look back, he just leaves. He's just so _angry._ He didn't do anything wrong, he'd only been trying to talk to Mickey, _god forbid_. Only when Ian gets to his car does he realize he overreacted. He also forgot his homework on Mickey's bedroom floor. He's too embarrassed to go back, and maybe Mickey needs time to cool down from whatever mood he was in, too. With a quick look at Mickey's bedroom window, Ian backs out of the driveway and heads home, the radio off and car silent.

ooo

Mickey finds Ian at his locker the next morning. When Ian sees the way his eyebrows are drawn up in worry, the little downturned frown, he's honestly relieved. If Mickey isn't still mad at him then he won't have to prostrate himself across the hallway floor and beg forgiveness. He apologizes anyway, they both do, and the anxiety that has been building since last night seeps away. He wishes he could kiss Mickey right then and there because words are not enough, sometimes.

Ian glances around, looking in resentment at each and every person preventing him from doing such a small, simple thing. He wonders if he and Mickey will ever be able to. If in college Mickey will be comfortable being out. Ian has the sudden urge to cut classes for the day and go finish all his college applications, he will apply to every school in New York until one accepts him. But they haven't talked about their future much, not in a _together_ sense. Ian has been assuming the end of high school wouldn't mean the end of them.

But what if it does?

ooo

The week passes uneventfully. Nothing _happens_ , but things are off in a way Ian can't seem to pinpoint.

Ian finds himself watching Mickey, wanting to ask what his plans are after graduation and if they include Ian. Mickey would tell him if they did, wouldn't he? Maybe Ian is moving too fast. They _have_ only known each other for about three months, have been friends for even less, a couple not even half that, which seems _crazy_ because it feels longer.

Mickey seems distant, more snappish than usual. When Ian tells Mickey his parents are on a trip over the weekend and does he want to come over? Mickey simply agrees like Ian has just invited him to the _grocery store_. Ian would worry Mickey isn't interested in him like _that_ anymore, but that is the one thing that hasn't changed, at least, every make out session is hotter and more frenzied than the last. Mickey seems almost desperate for it in a way Ian doesn't think can be faked, but his hot and cold mood changes are confusing more than Ian's libido. He tries to think of a way to ask about it, but nothing comes.

ooo

The Winter Formal, though the word _formal_ is in the title, is much less of an event than Homecoming was. No one is as decked out, and Rachel is much more calm about the whole affair.

New Directions form their own circle on the dance floor. It's fun and all, but then The Way You Look Tonight starts playing and everyone pairs off to slow dance. Rachel loops her arms around his shoulders, but all Ian can think is that she isn't who he really wants in his arms. He has his cheek resting against her hair, watching the room as they slowly circle, when he sees Mickey walk through the door.

He does a double take and nearly steps on Rachel's feet, because that is definitely _Mickey_ in a _suit_ , and _wow_ , he looks _amazing_. Before Ian has a chance to even head Mickey's way, Santana joins Mickey, taking his arm.

"What the hell?"

Ian doesn't even realize he just said that out loud until Rachel stops dancing to look up at him. "What?"

"Uh—nothing…"

He continues dancing and watches as Santana drags Mickey over to the food table. When the song ends, Ian politely excuses himself and makes his way over, mentally cursing the dense clusters of obnoxious classmates in his way. Mickey is gone when he gets there, leaving Ian looking stupidly at Santana.

Ian isn't as intimidated to approach her as he would have been when he first joined glee club. Ever since the shopping trip, especially, he and Santana have formed a bizarre, twisted sort of friendship. Or at least mutual tolerance, which, considering Santana's general attitude, is something to be admired.

He sidles up in the guise of getting punch. "Hi, Santana. You look beautiful." And she does, her hair piled high, wearing a long, black silk dress.

Santana spares him a sly smile. "Not too shabby yourself, Gaybler."

"Uh—"

"You know, if Rachel's going to be your beard, you could at least help dress her." Santana shoots a look off in Rachel's direction, making a face at the light blue and pink frosted dress.

"She's not my beard—and just because I'm gay doesn't mean I know anything about women's clothes."

"I never said you did, but you do have _eyes._ She's a little too old to shop at Kids R Us," Santana says.

"Well, look who _you_ asked." Ian's statement hangs in the air between them. He can't find an insult to even pretend to apply to Mickey.

"What? Are you kidding? Chipette over there practically _begged_ me to go with him," she snorts, inspecting her cup of punch with a disgusted frown.

Ian looks up, tries to hide his shock.

"It's cool," Santana continues. "I needed an excuse, anyway." She's looking off to some corner of the room. Ian follows her gaze, but hasn't a clue what, or who, she's looking at. He sees his group of friends and returns the wave Mercedes' is sending him.

"Oh. Where'd— um, where'd he go?" Ian asks, trying to feign nonchalance and failing pretty spectacularly.

Santana raises an eyebrow. "I don't know. Said he had to find someone."

"Oh…" Ian looks around, wondering if Mickey meant him. Has Mickey come to see him? It seems so unlikely, but then why else? "Well. I gotta go, Santana. See you."

He slips away before she can say a word, and starts wandering the crowd, looking for Mickey. He's stopped by Rachel before he can get very far.

"Oh," she says, smiling, "for me?"

Ian looks down at the cup of punch he's holding in confusion. He had completely forgotten he'd even grabbed it. "Oh, yeah. Here." He hands it to her with a smile. "Well—"

"Did you see the fight?" Rachel asks, an excited gleam in her eye.

" _What?_ " Ian squeaks, his mind flying to Mickey who is still nowhere to be seen—

Rachel cuts off his train of thought. "Finn and Quinn just got into a _huge_ argument. I couldn't hear everything they were saying, but it sounded serious and he _left_ and I don't know if he's coming back, but—"

Rachel continues on for several minutes, debating what the argument was about, what it could mean, should she go find Finn so he will turn to her in his time of need? Another slow song starts up and she takes his hands, dancing and occasionally asking what she should do. After Ian tells her five different times to go find Finn, she finally does, heading out of the gymnasium.

Ian continues his search for Mickey, and eventually concludes that there's no way Mickey can still be in the gymnasium. He feels like he's walked the perimeter at least twice. Eventually, he heads out, the music growing muted. There are a few small groups of scattered students milling around in the lobby. The hallways beyond are mostly dark, the lights turned off to indicate those areas are off limits. He jogs down one, nothing, heads back and tries the next. It's the choir room hallway along the side of the gymnasium, ending in doors that lead out to the parking lot, where he finds Mickey, standing near the doors, looking down at his phone.

"Hey," Ian says, slows his steps and walks toward Mickey. Mickey looks up and Ian can't read his expression, but doesn't think it's anything good. "I can't believe you're here."

"It was a mistake," Mickey says, tapping something into his phone.

"What do you mean?" Ian asks with a frown, stopping a few feet away. He watches Mickey's profile for a long moment. "...Mickey?"

"You want to be out. You want to be open. I _understand_ , Ian. It's something I can't give you, so—"

"I didn't ask you to, Mickey. It's okay that you didn't come, I swear," Ian says with a small shrug of his shoulders, arms loose at his sides, hands wanting to touch Mickey.

Mickey doesn't look up, and Ian kind of wants to break his phone.

"Why did you come, Mickey?"

Mickey's jaw clenches. "I don't know."

"God, Mickey, could you put your phone away?"

He gets a sharp look for that. "I have to let Santana know I'm not staying."

"What? Don't leave yet," Ian says, and takes a step forward. He just wants to know why, and he wants things to go back to normal between them. "You actually came here, didn't even come say hi to me, and now you're leaving already?"

But Mickey isn't talking.

" _Mickey_."

"I wanted you to ask me," Mickey says, eyes on his phone.

Ian frowns, shakes his head slowly in disbelief. "You wouldn't have gone with me…"

Mickey drags his tongue along his lower lip and glances over.

"Right? Because I was under the impression that this was a secret," Ian says when Mickey doesn't reply.

Mickey shrugs a shoulder, a helpless sort of look on his face. "I know." The vulnerability in his voice breaks Ian's heart.

The music from the gym filtering into the hallway catches Ian's attention. He takes a deep breath. "Dance with me."

Mickey's eyebrows go up, and he's looking at Ian now, _really_ looking. "What?"

"Dance with me," Ian says, holding out a hand.

Mickey's mouth curls up in uncertainty and he places his hand in Ian's. "Okay…"

Ian pulls Mickey toward him, encircling Mickey's waist with his arms. They're close, and Mickey is warm and perfect. "I would have asked you if I thought there was a chance in hell you'd have accepted."

"I don't even know if I would have," Mickey says, tilting his head to rest against Ian's. "I probably wouldn't have. I guess I just. Wanted."

"We should be able to, Mickey," Ian says. "We're no different from anyone else."

Mickey doesn't answer. They turn, swaying to the music, and it's just like Ian always imagined it should be. The thrill of Mickey's touch as the music swirls around him, heart racing. Mickey starts to sing along softly against his ear. " _Maybe I didn't hold_ _you all those lonely, lonely times, and_ _I guess I never told you, I'm so happy that you're mine…_ "

Ian smiles, closes his eyes against a small shiver, and joins in.

" _If I ever made you feel second best, I'm so sorry, I was blind_. _You were always on my mind, you were always on my mind…_ "

Anyone could walk down this hallway. Anyone. But here Mickey holds him, dances with him. They turn a circle in the middle of the hallway, the two of them, the moon through the door's window their main source of light. They dance to the slow songs, to the fast songs. They take turns singing – both alone and together – never too loudly, doing their best to keep their laughter down so they don't draw any unwanted attention. Ian isn't sure if it's because Mickey doesn't want anyone to find out, or simply because they have turned this into their own private party and don't want to share the feeling.

Ian twirls Mickey and Mickey dips Ian and they laugh and dance. When one of the songs ends, Ian presses Mickey to the wall and kisses him, so delighted he can't keep it to himself any longer. Mickey tugs at Ian's bowtie and kisses back. _He_ _kisses back_.

Elated, Ian pulls away with a widening grin. "I love you."

Mickey looks as stunned as Ian feels, because he did not mean to say that. Ian's fingers come up to cover his mouth as though he can retroactively keep the words inside.

"You do?"

As scared as Ian is to openly admit it to Mickey, it's only from fear of rejection, or that it's too soon. But he won't take it back. What a thing to take back. Maybe it's too much, but he could never tell Mickey he doesn't love him.

So he nods, his hand slowly lowering. "You don't have to—"

"I love you, too," Mickey says in a rush, cutting Ian off. He says the words like he's pushing them past his lips, and then he's close, hiding his face against Ian's, cheek to cheek. "I love you."

Mickey is holding him loosely at the waist, and Ian grips the sleeves at Mickey's elbows, holding on. "Mickey…"

"I hated seeing you with Rachel Berry, and I hated not being the one there with you. It's stupid, because I know it didn't mean anything to you, but I don't want you to be anyone else's but mine."

"God, no," Ian says, turning his face toward Mickey's, nose to cheek.

Mickey shifts, skin against skin, until his mouth finds Ian's. Ian doesn't hesitate to kiss him. Their lips part in tandem, Mickey's tongue is warm and insistent, the press of their mouths possessive. There's something like a growl and Ian realizes he doesn't know who it came from, realizes they can't do this here.

Ian's voice, when it comes, is breathy and rough. "Let's go."

Mickey is still pressing kisses to Ian's mouth. "Where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere we can be alone. My house?"

"Oh. Okay," Mickey says, somewhere from the vicinity of Ian's neck.

Ian pulls away with a laugh and Mickey just smiles.

They try the door at the end of the hallway, but it's locked, which means their only way out is through the front doors. They get a few curious looks as they walk through the lobby, but no one says a thing. Once they're outside in the open air they take off, running like they're bound for flight, hands linked and hearts soaring.

ooo

"When the world is puddle-wonderful," Ian whispers as Mickey mouths at his neck, works at unbuttoning his dress shirt.

"Mm?"

"Huh?"

Mickey stops and gives Ian a curious look. "Did you just say something about _puddles_?"

Ian blinks. "I…did not realize I said that out loud."

"Someone spiked the punch, that's what all this has been about, hasn't it?"

"No!" Ian smiles in embarrassment. "It's from this ee cummings poem."

"Cummings, hm?" Mickey's fingers continue on their mission to open Ian's shirt. "Trying to tell me something?" Mickey smirks, stepping in closer. "You're so dirty, Ian."

"Shut up," Ian laughs.

"You're the one talking about coming," Mickey says in a sing-song voice.

Ian is half-naked now and thinking about coming and so he can't be blamed for pressing forward and kissing any further words from Mickey's mouth. Mickey kisses back without hesitation and it's messy at first and just a little awkward because they are both so eager. Mickey's hands frame Ian's face and hold him there, keep him still. Mickey presses him hard against the door and kisses him like he's starving for it.

Ian understands, he understands completely, because he needs this, too.

He never imagined being with someone could feel this way, that passion like this was real. He had _hoped,_ but after so many failed dates and his inability to want anyone beyond something platonic, he had wondered if there was something wrong with him, that maybe love of this kind was just an exaggeration. He feels it now like a physical ache, this need for Mickey, and it's scary and amazing, and to think Mickey feels even just a little of this for him? Ian's heart is almost fit to burst.

Mickey is breathless and flushed when he pulls away. "I want to do everything with you," he says, kissing Ian's face, lips moving down to his neck, kissing everywhere.

"I want you to," Ian says, tilting his head back, baring throat and chest to Mickey's mouth. Oh, Mickey's _tongue_ , little wet touches along his jaw, under his ear, over his Adam's apple. Ian groans so Mickey's mouth will feel the vibration and Mickey moans softly in response, sucks fleetingly along his neck.

"We should—" Ian gasps as Mickey's teeth worry along the side of his neck. "—Bed, Mickey."

"Yeah, okay," Mickey says, moves away only enough to lead them both over. Mickey sits on the edge of the mattress and stops Ian from following, holding him by the hips, eyes on his. "What did you bring me here for, exactly?"

Ian blushes and stutters, glances away. "To be with you."

"But," Mickey breathes, fingers giving the waistband of Ian's slacks a light tug, "in what capacity?"

Ian pushes through sudden nervousness and makes a face, something like a smile, he hopes. "Whatever capacity you want."

Mickey slides the button free with his thumb. "When I said everything, I meant it. I meant now."

Ian's throat constricts, so he nods, words failing to express how much he wants this, too. With Mickey.

Mickey pulls Ian's pants down, leaving him in his boxer briefs. He reaches forward, gently touches Ian, eliciting a soft, pleading sound. Mickey's eyes flicker upward. "You're already so hard for me."

" _Mickey_ —"

Mickey is palming him, almost kneading. Ian leans into it with a groan, hands falling to Mickey's shoulders. At his touch, Mickey pulls his briefs down, leaving Ian naked. Mickey doesn't stroke or jerk him, more like maps him out, palm and fingers skating along his skin, just _feeling_. Mickey's other hand reaches below, behind, along his thighs, everywhere. Mickey's hands are all over and it's all Ian can do to keep from slumping into his lap, begging for more.

"I love this about you," Mickey says.

"W-What?" Ian asks, fingers tight around Mickey's shoulders, head bowed.

Mickey gently squeezes his cock. " _This_. Knowing I did this to you, that this is because of me." Mickey strokes just once.

Mickey pulls him closer and slides to the floor. Ian's hands trace up Mickey's neck to the back of his head, fingers disappearing in his hair. He can't think with the way Mickey's touching him and the things Mickey is saying. He can't think of one thing to reply with that isn't a moan or a plea for something more.

Mickey briefly nuzzles his nose and cheek to Ian's stomach, kissing his way down along the sparse trail of hair until Ian can feel his breath where he aches most.

"Drives me crazy," Mickey whispers, and presses his lips right to the underside of Ian's cock.

Ian gasps and his fingers tighten in Mickey's hair. "Holy _shit_ …"

Mickey mouths at Ian's cock, licks, sucks lightly against the shaft, not yet taking it into his mouth but it doesn't even matter because this is _amazing_. They haven't done this yet, at most they've explored handjobs and rubbing, but this is different. Wet and hot and Ian had no idea this feeling was even _possible_ , but he never wants to go back.

Ian hears the sound of a zipper. Mickey shifts, and Ian doesn't know why until he looks down between them and _sees_. "Mickey," he says, startled, "I can, for you—"

Mickey's hand is pumping himself, he's hard and the head of his cock is shiny with smeared pre-come. "No, I just—I need to this time. I'm so turned on, you're so—" He doesn't finish whatever he was going to say, moving instead to take Ian back into his mouth.

Ian whimpers, helplessly pushing his hips toward Mickey's mouth, saying his name in a broken voice. It feels too good, tight and wet and perfect. Mickey sucks at the head, lowers slowly, taking more and more into his mouth, down his throat until there's nowhere else and Mickey's hand hovers with nothing left to hold.

" _Mickey_."

Mickey moans in reply and moves back up, experimentally bobs his head, his hand returning to hold Ian in place as he sucks.

Ian's hands are fists in Mickey's hair, and he pulls a little without meaning to. He would be sorry except that Mickey makes these high-pitched sounds every time, and Ian is craning his head to see, wants to watch Mickey's mouth around him, Mickey's hand jerking himself off. Mickey's mouth moves faster, his thumb sweeping along the sensitive underside of Ian's cock and Ian _can't_.

"Mickey— _oh_ , I'm sorry, I—"

It's as much warning as he can get out. He comes with Mickey's mouth still around him, with Mickey's mouth still moving, working him through his orgasm. Ian doesn't even know what sounds he's making, how hard he's pulling Mickey's hair, because there is nothing but heat and release.

Mickey swallows and pulls off, taking a breath and then letting out a strangled moan as he stands a little to lean against Ian. Ian can feel it hit his thigh, hot stripes of come. He can't help a moan of his own and tilts Mickey's head back with a hand still in his hair, the other clutching at Mickey's shoulder, brackets himself around Mickey and kisses him. Mickey's hands are on his hips now and Ian can taste himself on Mickey's tongue, delicious and dirty.

They fall back onto the bed in a mass of sweaty, slightly sticky limbs, and neither of them can bring themselves to care. Mickey loses his pants and Ian pulls a blanket over them. They take their time kissing and touching, exploring with hands and mouths and heated looks. Ian is certain there isn't a single soul as beautiful as Mickey, and he tells him so in whispers and in as many ways as he can think of. Mickey tries to stop him with kisses, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment and love.

At first it feels like drowning, warm from the blanket and from Mickey, limbs heavy and head foggy with a mixed desire for sleep and for _more_. It tapers off little by little, touch by touch, focus sharpening and heat building. He's hard again and so is Mickey, Ian can feel him against his thigh. It's almost surreal, to have this.

Ian's fingers tease Mickey's nipples, Mickey's knead Ian's ass. Mickey's mouth is a constant sucking pressure along his neck and Ian doesn't even want to know what he's going to look like tomorrow. It's a distracting thought, so when one of Mickey's fingers dips down to touch where he has _definitely_ never been touched before, Ian can't help a surprised sort of yelp.

Mickey pulls back, eyes heavy-lidded, but concerned. "Okay?"

"Yeah, I—sorry, that was embarrassing. You can continue. With my butt."

Mickey grins and it looks almost wolfish. "You're cute."

Mickey moves his finger a little, rubs lightly at the opening. It feels good in a way Ian wasn't expecting and he unconsciously leans in toward Mickey, tiny whimpers at each movement from his finger.

Mickey is breathing heavy and whispers against his ear, "Do you have lube?"

Ian nods, rolling on his opposite side and away from Mickey to look in the drawer of his bedside table. He'd bought lube and condoms not too long after they'd gotten together. He didn't know when they'd use them, but he knew that eventually they would. Everything has been so fervent from the moment they kissed that it feels like a wonder they've waited this long.

There is no second guessing, Ian is ready.

He turns toward Mickey with his hands hidden behind his back. "Pick a hand."

"Is this a modern version of playing hard to get?" Mickey asks, tapping his right shoulder.

Ian produces his hand, opening it. "Behind this hand, lube."

"Do I have to answer a riddle to get what's behind the other?" Mickey asks, taking the tube and smiling.

"Yes, what's rubbery and ribbed for her pleasure?"

" _Her_? Is there something you're not telling me?" Mickey takes the packet from Ian, sets it aside and leans in to kiss him, reaching down and giving Ian's cock two slow, moan-inducing strokes.

Ian opens the tube for Mickey, spreading the lube on Mickey's fingers for him. "Definitely not a girl."

Mickey looks down to his fingers. It's a goopy sort of mess, Ian maybe used too much, but probably better too much than too little. "You're sure about this?" Mickey asks.

Ian nods, ignoring the way his heart's pounding. "How do you want me?"

Mickey's eyes are dark, they linger and it's a moment before he answers. "On your elbows and knees, I think." Ian acquiesces, and Mickey helps direct him. "Yeah, like— knees drawn under, yeah. Like that." Mickey moves behind him and Ian hears him groan. " _God_ , Ian, I just want to—"

Ian bites his lip, hands tightening in his bed sheet, and he lifts his ass just a little higher, presenting himself to Mickey. He just wants so _badly_. "Please, Mickey."

There's a groan and then Ian feels the cool, wet touch of Mickey's finger. Mickey teases the rim again, swirls his finger, increasing and decreasing the pressure at random, making Ian moan and squirm. When he isn't sure he can take anymore, Mickey's finger slowly pushes inside. It's hard to judge how far. Ian can feel it moving, it doesn't feel _bad_ , but it doesn't exactly feel _good_ , either. It's a weird sort of pressure, but the idea of it, and god, the friction against that outer edge, _that's_ turning Ian on. _That_ feels good, and he wants more, begs for it in little moans.

Mickey stretches him with that one finger for what seems like an impossibly long time.

"Mickey, more…"

"Okay," Mickey says, and his voice sounds shaky and jesus that's incredibly hot. Ian wishes he could see, turns his head to look right as Mickey works another finger inside. It burns just a little, but Mickey looks up at him and the _look_ in his eyes. There's nothing else, just this boy he loves, just them.

"You're so tight, Ian, I—I'm gonna do another, okay? I read—"

But Ian is already shaking his head, saying _yeah, yeah, please_ , and there's this moment of _emptiness_ when Mickey is adding more lube, followed by intense pressure of all three fingers entering at once. Ian breathes and relaxes his body, head lowering a moment. Mickey's free hand is holding onto his hip, almost bruisingly tight, and it all just feels like _a lot_.

Mickey's fingers go deeper and start to slowly thrust, start to move with purpose. Ian is cursing under his breath and Mickey is moaning low and Ian wonders if he even realizes. Mickey curls his fingers, or, Ian isn't sure, just knows it feels different, and then it feels _amazing_ , so amazing he cries out softly, surprised by the sudden spike of pleasure.

"Wha—"

"Yeah? Did that feel good?" Mickey's leaning over his back in an eager sort of way, moving his fingers a little faster, massaging, and Ian cries out again, claws at his mattress until his hands are fists in the sheet because holy fuck it's intense and strange and _good_.

"I love the sounds you're making, they're driving me crazy," Mickey is saying in a husky voice, practically draped over his back, licking and sucking at Ian's neck, biting, mouthing his shoulder, moving his fingers over and over the same area and all Ian can do is moan and try to remember to breathe.

The feeling ignites, flares, and Ian almost screams, lets out this broken sob and he's sure he's come, he doesn't feel anything but he must have.

" _Oh my god_ ," Mickey says and his fingers are gone and he flips Ian. Ian lets Mickey manhandle him, position him. A pillow under his hips and Mickey's hands linger on his thighs a moment.

"Did I come?" Ian asks weakly, mindlessly.

"No, it's—I don't know, that was just. Can I? Is it still okay?" Mickey asks, and he has the condom clenched in both hands. He looks wild. Ian nods.

Mickey lets out a breath like relief and gets himself ready. Ian watches in anticipation, that edge of nervousness back, but the way Mickey adds a little lube inside the condom and rolls it on, spreads more lube along his length, the precision and preparation for what they're about to do all feels very erotic to Ian and there is a low buzz under his skin.

Mickey scoots up between Ian's legs, holds onto his thighs, and everything at once seems sharpened. The blue of Mickey's eyes, the bow of his lips, the touch of his fingers and the pale expanse of his chest, just a light sheen of sweat.

"You're so beautiful," Ian says, and it comes out in this broken, stupid way that's a little embarrassing, but Mickey smiles, glancing away.

"God, you have _no idea_ how you look right now, Ian."

" _Mickey_ …"

"I'm afraid to hurt you," Mickey admits after a moment, hands stroking Ian's thighs.

"Remember…remember, I'm a masochist? You said. Maybe I'll like it," Ian says, smiles to show he's teasing.

Mickey looks like he's laughing but there isn't a sound. He touches Ian's cock, teases the spot between the base and his balls and Ian squirms.

"Please, Mickey…"

Mickey nods and leans in, and Ian feels the head of his cock press up against his entrance. Mickey takes a breath and starts to push in, and oh god, _oh god_. It's nothing like Mickey's fingers had been, not even close. It's all intense, blunt pressure, and wow, he doesn't feel two seconds away from coming now.

" _Ian_." And this time it's Mickey's voice that sounds broken. His face dips down close, and he's pushing slowly, so slowly.

Ian closes his eyes, trying to keep the sounds threatening to break free _down_ , but something hoarse escapes anyway, and Mickey stops moving.

"You okay?"

Ian takes two deep breaths and nods. "Just keep—keep moving."

Mickey peppers a few sloppy kisses along his face, shifts, and the drag of Mickey's cock along his rim sends sparks up his spine, elicits a helpless whimper.

"Jesus, Ian, you have no _idea_ —"

Mickey stops, and must be in all the way. Ian's hands are shaking, but sure, and bring Mickey's head down, kissing him, feeling a rush of aching warmth because this is Mickey _inside_ him. Mickey, the first boy he's ever loved, who he's everything with, now. He wants Mickey so completely, his fingers tighten, body becomes impatient.

"More, Mickey. _Need_ you," he begs against Mickey's mouth, lips still touching.

Mickey makes a sound of affirmation, and slides a hand up Ian's thigh, slowly pulling back. The drag of his cock makes Ian gasp, moan just a little. Mickey starts to thrust, slow, shallow strokes, staring down like he's trying to work out the best way to do this, eyelids heavy and mouth parted like it's the best thing he's ever felt.

"So tight," Mickey is whispering, and all Ian can say is _please, please_.

Mickey's thrusts pick up speed, gaining confidence, and all at once that overwhelming feeling is back. Ian keens, shaking pleas and attempts at coaxing Mickey for _more_ tumble from his mouth, his fingers hold tight, scrabbling to find purchase on Mickey's body, hips jerking, wanting. Mickey is sweating, panting, rolling his hips with his eyes on Ian's, face flushed and eyes dazed. Ian can feel his desperation just as much as he can his own.

"Touch yourself," Mickey says, swiping his tongue over his lower lip.

Ian groans from the sight of Mickey's tongue, the thought of touching himself in front of Mickey, and hesitates only a moment before complying. He wraps his hand around his cock, strokes fast, hissing in relief.

" _Yeah_ ," Mickey moans. "You're so hot, Ian, so hot…"

Mickey re-adjusts, braces himself, and drags Ian's hips higher, fucking into him a little faster. The movements are erratic as Mickey finds a new rhythm, but Ian cries out, forgets to pump his hand because Mickey's cock is rubbing that spot inside over and over and it's _too much_ , he _can't_ anymore, jerks frantically and comes with a helpless shout.

Mickey cries out, cut short by something like a growl, and he _pounds_ into Ian, stills after several fervent thrusts, fingers clamped hard enough to make Ian whimper. Mickey's coming, and Ian reaches up to touch Mickey's cheek, Mickey's eyes flashing open and landing on Ian's.

Ian smiles and starts to say something, but Mickey cuts him off with a kiss, tender and drawn out. Ian hums appreciatively, smooths Mickey's hair, cradles his face, lets him go only when he shifts away to pull out.

Mickey disposes of the condom, wipes up some of the mess with some tissues, and cuddles right up to Ian, curling around his body. Ian burrows into his warmth, kissing lazily at the underside of his jaw, the both of them still getting their breathing back to normal.

"Sorry if I was too rough, uh—"

"No, no, I—I might be sore or whatever later—I liked it," Ian tries to explain, raising his face so he can see Mickey. Mickey is smiling, a sated, sleepy look on his face.

"I know it may sound cliché, but that was really amazing."

Ian lets out a quiet laugh. "Would it be too cliché of me, then, to tell you I love you?"

Mickey smiles softly, dragging Ian close for a kiss. "Then I'll finish this cliché-off. I love you, too."

ooo

 _They sleep for forty days and forty nights, until they're the last boys on Earth._

Or at least, that's what Ian dreams. It feels true in a way. The world is quiet and still and Ian has never been so sluggishly tired, so boneless and content to stay cocooned in blankets and Mickey's arms.

They wake sometime the next afternoon and kiss until morning breath is only a memory. They have sex again, just lube and their hands touching each other, kissing and stroking and watching each other's faces, marveling at the flush they bring to each other's cheeks, the swollen state of their lips. Mickey is more beautiful than anyone Ian's imagination could ever conjure up.

Ian comes with Mickey's name rolling off his tongue. Mickey's eyebrows draw up, his own orgasm given over to Ian. Ian takes it, worshipfully. He kisses Mickey, both of them still worked up, heavy breathing, quiet moans, and whispers to him that he's perfect.

Perfect, perfect.

ooo

Mickey says he'll ask his dad if Ian can stay over, but Ian doesn't want to push it, says it's okay. Before Mickey leaves, he sings to Ian, " _Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long?"_ They're standing on Ian's porch with snow falling around them, cheeks rosy, hands cold and breath showing in white puffs. Ian smiles and holds Mickey's hands between his, joins in on the last verse, " _Goodnight, my baby, sleep tight, my baby…_ "

Ian watches Mickey drive away, and doesn't go inside until his fingers start to feel numb.

He has a hard time falling asleep in bed alone that night.

ooo

School is a reality check, but it doesn't feel as harsh as it once did.

Ian's hand wants to reach for Mickey's in the hallway, and though things shifted over the weekend, as far as Ian knows, Mickey still isn't ready to come out. Ian well knows it isn't his place, or anyone else's, to make that decision for him. With two minutes to homeroom, now isn't the time for a discussion, so Ian contents himself with walking alongside Mickey.

They share secret smiles all day, texts that don't say much but still manage to make Ian grin. At lunch they steal away to the library, taking advantage of the fact that it is nearly deserted, and make out in the religious section in the back. Mickey is an atheist and Ian knows he takes some smug satisfaction in their choice of location. Before they leave, Ian sends a mental prayer up, asking forgiveness but he is so in love.

Artie accuses Ian of taking roofies and Rachel gives him a full-out lecture on drug use. Someone mentions Vitamin D, whatever that means, but Ian assures them he hasn't taken anything; he's just happy.

Ian had no idea a person could be this happy.

The final bell rings, and Mickey is waiting for him as his locker.

Ian greets him with a wide smile. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"Well, I thought I was driving a certain someone over to my house because it will be empty until around five thirty, when my father gets home."

Mickey's grin is positively predatory, and Ian wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss it like mad. He stops himself at the last moment, smile disappearing when he remembers Rachel's announcement during homeroom.

"Crap, I can't. Glee got moved from tomorrow to today because of some football thing. It shouldn't take too long, though, and I can drive over when it's done?" Ian asks, hopeful and apologetic all at once.

Mickey doesn't look annoyed, as Ian expected, just thoughtful. "Can I come with you?"

Ian's mouth falls open. "To _glee club_?"

"You've always been so adamant about me joining, so I've been giving it some thought…"

"Seriously?"

Mickey nods, a bashful smile on his face. Ian is nothing short of astonished.

"You know I don't want you to for me, right? I mean, sure, it'd be great to spend more time with you, but I want you to because I think _you_ would like it," Ian says, stepping closer.

Mickey's smile gains confidence. "I know."

Ian touches his hand, because he _has_ to.

"Let's go."

ooo

The choir room is at the end of the hallway past the gym. This is the hallway they danced in not two days ago. Ian points this out, and Mickey says he knows, his feet are still recovering from Ian clomping all over them. Ian rolls his eyes, about to snark back, when he feels the collar of his shirt pull back sharply and suddenly against his windpipe. He gasps and flails, but it's too fast and he's yanked backwards, unbalanced, and slams into the wall.

Ian registers pain, Mickey shouting, but then there's nothing but the angry face in front of his.

"You're asking for it now," Karofsky growls. He turns to where Mickey is trying to pull his arm away to free Ian. "What the hell happened to you, Milkovich?" Karofsky's attention returns to Ian. "You think you can turn _everybody_ into a fag?"

"Wha—"

Karofsky shoves Ian into the wall again before he can even form an answer. "Huh!?"

"Get _off_ him!" Mickey screams. It's so loud Ian looks away from Karofsky, missing Karofsky's fist until it connects with his _face_.

There's an _explosion_ of pain, not in one place, not just his nose or his jaw, it's his entire _head_ , and Ian grasps at Karofsky to fend him off, but crumples to the floor. Ian cannot _see_ at the moment, can only hear Mickey's, " _Don't touch him_!"

When things have stopped spinning enough and the world around him makes a little more sense, Ian hears it again, "Don't touch him— _get the fuck away from him!_ " Mickey has gotten between Ian and Karofsky, hands in fists and poised to lunge.

"He's _mine_."

Ian stares in shock, too frozen to move, to help. He tastes the tangy salt of blood in his mouth and ignores it, because Mickey just said. He just said…

"You're _sick_ ," Karofsky says, voice pitched low in morbid wonder.

"I'm not the sick one and you know it," Mickey spits, words rushed from how heavy Mickey is breathing, how angry he is. "And if you ever get near him again you're _done_ , Karofsky. He's mine and I mean it."

"Yeah, who's gonna stop me?"

"Me," comes a voice, at first unrecognizable to Ian's ears. His face whips to the left, where Rachel is walking out the choir room door. Karofsky's face lifts at first, starts to smile, but quickly diminishes.

"We are."

The entirety of New Directions file into the hallway, standing between Ian and Karofsky. Ian can't see Karofsky's face, but it doesn't matter, because Mickey's attention is on him now. Ian realizes he still hasn't gotten up, because Mickey is crouching down by him, mouth tight and eyes worried as they check every inch of his face.

"—Puck is _not_ gonna be happy, you know Mickey's his boy," Santana is saying, but Ian loses track again when Mickey's fingers touch cool against his forehead and jaw.

"You didn't have to say that," Ian says, voice hushed, feeling his face heat up at the look in Mickey's eyes.

"I may not be ready to march with a rainbow flag, but," Mickey shrugs a little, self-conscious, "I'm getting there. I'm proud of who I am, and I'm proud to be your boyfriend."

Ian smiles so hard he winces. "…Ow."

Mickey cringes in sympathy. "If he broke your nose I will break his _dick_."

Ian huffs out a surprised laugh and it _hurts_. "Oh god, don't do that—"

"What's going on here?"

Ian and Mickey both look up to find Mr. Schuester paused at the end of the hallway, coffee mug in hand, taking in the scene with an alarmed expression on his face.

ooo

With a dozen witnesses, a teacher on the scene mere moments after the assault occurred, Ian's quite visible injury coupled with Karofsky's prior offense, and the school's no tolerance physical violence policy - Karofsky's expulsion is almost a sure thing.

Everyone insists on going to Figgins' office, Rachel the loudest of all of them. She storms in ahead of Schuester, threatening to call her fathers, members of the civil rights union, if the school doesn't do anything about Karofsky.

Everything gets explained, documented. The nurse is brought down to check Ian for serious injury. He is fine. He is better than fine, really, because Mickey doesn't leave his side once. Ian keeps looking at him in wonder. Mickey is risking everything for him.

Mr. Schuester announces that glee club is cancelled for the day, and Ian nearly leaps from his seat in protest.

"No, Mr. Schuester. You don't have to do that on account of me."

"Ian, I don't think—"

"Really, Mr. Schue. It would…give me something nice to focus on," he tries, glancing at Mickey.

Mickey was about to maybe join glee club, and Ian wants it more than he can say. He doesn't want to wait another two days. He doesn't want to take the chance that Mickey will change his mind. Mickey is his boyfriend and now everyone knows. Now Mickey can do anything he wants.

"And we have a new recruit."

ooo

As if the confrontation with Karofsky wasn't enough to make Ian's friends wonder, Mickey takes his hand on the way to the choir room. The walk back is quiet, but their curious looks say enough. Ian doesn't feel like explaining just yet and is relieved no one asks.

Ian lets go of Mickey's hand to take his seat. He sits in the first row, ice bag clutched to his jaw, eyes unmoving from where Mickey stops, front and center. Mr. Schuester speaks quietly with Mickey for a few minutes as everyone settles into their seats, the quiet chatter making it so Ian can't hear what Mickey and Mr. Schuester are saying.

Mr. Schuester steps to the side, leaving Mickey standing ram-rod straight in place, gaze moving from person to person, everyone looking back at him. There is an undercurrent of trepidation, but through it, Mickey's head is held high. Ian can hardly believe it, the courage it has to take to stand, utterly vulnerable, in front of a group of people who you've made hate you for years. Mickey is willingly exposing two of his deepest secrets to a room where the majority despises him; his sexuality and his voice.

Ian is so moved by Mickey's bravery.

"Hi. I'm Mickey Milkovich," he says when everyone is settled and silent. No one says a thing. Mickey's eyes flit along their faces. Ian knows that despite Mickey being his boyfriend, they'll be hard to win over.

"I know I've been awful to most of you. You probably don't want me here, and I understand. I'm sorry for the things I've done and said, and I hope I can make it up to you before the school year is over.

"Someone important to me wanted me to join, so you can blame him for this." Mickey is smiling at him, and Ian's nervousness ebbs away.

"I want to dedicate this song to him. To Ian."

The piano begins to play, a slow and familiar melody, and Ian's smile deepens. Mickey closes his eyes a moment, takes a deep breath, and begins to sing. His eyes meet Ian's upon reopening, and Ian's heart swells with love and pride. He knows it must show on his face from the way Mickey is looking back at him.

" _Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise…_ "


End file.
